


discrepancy

by zohe



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Violence, References to Depression, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-05 23:14:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zohe/pseuds/zohe
Summary: He fell in love, in the mess of fire burning and lost hopes./Inspired by the idea and concept of soulmates, with a sharp twist and a soft turn.





	1. fallen

\--/--

 

Day 337

There is something comforting about the darkness of the night. The seductive arms of the night embraced him and the wind calmed him with its pleasant gentleness.

Or so Jinyoung thinks as he makes his way down the streets at the wee hours of the morning.

His ears were plugged, but the music volume kept minimum. After all, the night was quiet, void of the disruptive noises that would pollute the city of the day. On days like this, alone on the empty streets, he walks in slow, uneven, almost childlike footsteps, taking in the glory of the night. Half walking, half semi-hopping, he traced his own shadows that were cast on the pavements by the orange tint of streetlamps. His arms flail openly by his sides, moving freely, casually dancing in the wind.

He was alone on the street, and for this lost moment in time, he almost believed that he could be anything.

 

_Flying youth, Park Jinyoung…age 22._

 

It’s strange and surreal when that thought emerges in his head.

It was always fight or flight, and he’d always take off, one way or another. He let out a half-hearted scoff despite himself. _Flying youth indeed_.

 

A gust of wind lifted strands of his hair away from his forehead. It was cooling, a nice feeling… almost enough to make Jinyoung forget why he’s out this late into the night on a mediocre Tuesday night.

It was almost enough to make him ignore the wet and now cooling stains around his eyes. And the bloodstained cuts that decorated a few of his fingers.

 

_‘Almost’. Ah, wasn’t that a painful word? It almost always is._

The song ends, and silence ensues for a short span of a few seconds.

 

There is also, perhaps, something wrong about the fact that Jinyoung was presently wandering about on the dimly-lit streets the midst of night turning into day, on a lesser known area of the city. Slowly, his footsteps came to a stop. Jinyoung finds that he suddenly has a compelling disdain for words, hating them for being ever insufficient to properly express himself and his feelings.

Over shards of broken glass and split water, the unspoken words filled his head. There was a stale numbness over everything, like a stifling blanket over reality. But he could not quite utter the heavy words sinking within himself. The words, heavy in his heart, fell silent on his lips, and eventually, they passed over in silence.

A stale, stagnating state of silence.

It was suddenly difficult to tell if a single minute passed, or if he had been standing still for an hour. He vaguely felt his fingers hurting from the stern grip that he had balled his fists into. His knuckles had whitened, and even though the tips of his fingers felt cold, his palms remained warm.

He remembered thinking, or rather, he remembered how a distinctive thought entered his mind. Looking up, he glanced towards the cloudless sky, watching a lone bird skid across the landscape.

 

_This would be,_

Its movements fluid and graceful, albeit being somewhat lonely and sombre against the dark skies.

 

_My first_

Its wings rose and fell, rose. And fell.

 

_And last_

Keeping itself in motion, a steady trajectory.

 

_Love._

 

 

\--\\--

 

Day 336

_Everything is a mess._

That was the only thought that Jaebum had when he returned to his senses. He remained motionless lying on the cold floorboards, staring blankly at the ceiling. He blinked, as if to snap out from the thoughts that swarmed his mind.

 

A visible crack at the corner of the ceiling blinked into his sight and caught his attention.

 

 _When was that there_?

It was strange – he never saw it before.

It was a rough and jagged line with spokes that branched out, like an alien constellation. Black against white, denying the peaceful quality of the otherwise smooth surface of the ceiling.

The typical Jaebum would have made a smartass comment like how ‘ _There is beauty in everything, even the unlikeliest of things_ ’

 

 _…Shit_.

Suddenly, a certain memory came back to him in a slew of jumbled images: this was exactly what he had said back then. And he remembered it all now. How he had smiled then, all carefree and nonchalant. The black sweatshirt he wore. He remembered the way his airy voice had sounded out, and that very first conversation they had.

 

A short and bitter laugh escaped his lips, and his elbow naturally moved to cover his eyes. The irony burned.

_So stupid._

 

Why was it that he never realised these things?

He clenched his teeth and felt a warm wetness around his eyes.

 

The crack on the ceiling was nothing pretty. It was the product of negligence and ignorance. A jarring scar on an otherwise empty and smooth surface that he never noticed.

All this time, he never thought about it. Because he was never looking, he never found anything.

 

-

 

Nobody thought about ceilings, but it wouldn’t be a house without one, would it?

 

 

\--/--

 

Day 337

Somewhere on the floor, the second-hand of a smashed-up wall clock suddenly reconnected with its supply of power, softly ticking away a mechanical rhythm, breaking the loud silence that hung over the apartment. Somehow, it reconnected Jaebum to reality. Slowly, he sat up with his hands supporting him by his side, his head still somewhat groggy. Fumbling about in the darkness, he reached to locate his phone.

He lighted up the screen.

 

_01:09_

No missed calls, no messages. Nothing.

 

Dragging his heavy footsteps across the all-too-familiar apartment, he turned on the light switch. White light flickered and flashed into existence all at once, making him wince and shut his eyes at the sudden contact.

He blinked his eyes back and slowly adjusted to the light. A tired breath of air escaped his lips as he scanned the apartment. His broad shoulders drooped a little.

 

The apartment was a mess. Torn magazine pages and books scattered across the floor, along with broken glass shards and spilled water. Half of the curtains were ripped off from where they were hanging, and there was a fist print imprinted on the wall near the front door.

It was the shape of his fist.

Some of the paint had chipped off, becoming flakes on the floor. At the other end of the room was an overturned bookshelf and a couple of chairs, one of them broken.

 _Beauty in everything. Beauty in fucking everything_.

 

He left the living room and walked slowly into the hallway, navigating around the mess. His fingers lightly brushed against the walls until they stopped at the room facing his own. The door was left ajar.

Jinyoung’s room.

Jaebum had meant to return to his own room, but found his feet walking towards the room opposite from his own. He took a step forward, and then another. Slowly, his right hand moved from his sides to gently push open the door. He kept his gaze on the floor as he watched the door fall silently open. He knew for a fact that it would be empty. Still, he felt a distinctive pinch of disappointment when the door was fully open and there was no sign of a certain someone.

 

Jinyoung’s room was neat, it always was. His sheets were folded and smoothed over. Creaseless. And soft.

…they smelt just like him. 

For no particular reason, he sat down on his roommate’s bed and looked around the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he really entered Jinyoung’s room. To be fair, that was simply how they got along. A silent but understood agreement. With Jinyoung, words were often unneeded. And so, they remained unsaid.

Well, at least that was the way he had thought they’d get along with each other.

 

 

\--\\--

 

Day 19

“Hey, look up.”

As if on command, Jaebum had naturally lifted his chin and looked up. Eyes scanning the ceiling for what might be the cause for the remark, only to receive a playful poke on his sides. The gesture caught him between a smile and a laugh, along with crinkled eyes. He remained continuously amused by how childish this boy of a man could actually be, as he looked back at his friend who was currently running away from him with a trail of spilling laughter.

His own legs had almost instantly sprang into action as he began to give chase. He remembers the wind hitting his face and his cheeks hurting from smiling.

Jinyoung had turned back with a teasing look of mock horror. The hilarity of his expression coughed breaths of laughter from Jaebum who was only fuelled to run even faster to catch up to his playful assailant.

 

That was how he remembered it. Blue and white stripes, along grey washed walls, panting breaths and strings of laughter. It was something simple, ordinary, but at the same time, it felt oddly captivating.

 

Maybe it started then, Jaebum thinks now, as he lies down on Jinyoung’s bed from a sitting position, his legs dangling off from it.

It was when ‘up’ became a butt of inside jokes, stupid puns and lame jokes.

 

“What’s up?”

“The ceiling.”

 

And they’d burst into laughter over the unfunny funny non-joke joke.

Or they’d find themselves breaking into a sudden live karaoke session just randomly.

“Put your handz up, put your handz UP!”

 

It was… fun.

Nice.

Warm memories.

 

It was natural. Them being together. 

…it was the only place their relationship was never going to go.

 

 

In a relationship, someone gives more.

Someone hurts more.

It’s unfortunate, but sometimes it’s the same person that gives more who hurts more. Or maybe it’s precisely that. _Because_ you give more, you hurt more.

 

 _No_ , that isn’t right either. It doesn’t have to be that way.

 

So… _why?_

 

Suddenly, Jaebum couldn’t think. He didn’t _know_ what went wrong. Why things ended the way it did. He jolted upright again, a feeling of distress and frustration washed over his insides.

His hands raked through strands of his hair in frustration, before he balled up his fists once more, grabbing at fistfuls of his hair. His hands harshly pulled at the roots of his dark red hair, and pain crept in.

 

_Was it really all his fault?_

 

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	2. meaning

 

Jinyoung was now cold. A strange weakness seemed to overcome him as he slumped down almost helplessly onto the sidewalk of the pavement, beside a streetlamp. The sudden movement jerked his phone out of his loose pockets. The ear buds disconnected from his phone and an abrupt silence fell into place.

Jinyoung all but stared blankly at the phone, making no effort to move.

_It’s all over anyway._

 

\--\\--

Day 109

Jinyoung doesn’t think he needs much in life.

Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t need _life_ at all.

In a half-joking manner, he’d sometimes tell his friends he was ‘minimalism at its finest’. But he wasn’t half-joking.

 

Jinyoung wasn’t joking at all. He never was.

 

But he’d always remember that one day he repeated the non-joke gag to Jaebum. It was casual and nothing out of the ordinary, really. They were chatting about everything and nothing, and it happened that Jinyoung brought it up seamlessly. He earned an expected ‘ _har-har_ ’ laugh from Jaebum and returned a little smile of his own.

They settled back into a comfortable silence. The song on the radio hummed in the background and Jinyoung took a sip of his Americano.

But after a moment of silence, Jaebum said ‘But actually… that’s great.’

His voice was low, but sincere.

 

‘It’d be great if we lived together. Someday.’

Gentle.

 

Jinyoung remembered the clinking sounds of the stirring spoon against the cup. It was as if everything fell into place in that single moment. A screen-capture of some sort formulated in his mind then, as he took in the scene in its entirety. The pleasantly yellow walls of the café; the framed pictures on the sides, the smell of brewing coffee, the pleasant taste of bitterness… the soft look in Jaebum’s smiley eyes.

 

Everything fitted together.

 

It was a beautiful moment in time. And somehow those words resurfaced in the back of his mind again. ‘ _Beauty in everything_ ’ indeed, Jinyoung agrees and thought then, that this would be a single moment that he would remember for a very, very long time.

 

It was.

 

And still is.

Even in his present circumstance, it was a scene that resurfaced in his mind, with a scary clarity. It had meant so much to him.

 

But then, memories are never quite the same, you know? Each time you remember it, even though it feels just as real, something changes. You see different things each time. The mind can be such a manipulative and crafty bastard, inventing images on its own, twisting the truth and contorting reality. And it does so all the time, silently.

And considering the ridiculous number of times that that particular figment of memory has flashed and played back in his mind, a logical part of Jinyoung wonders, how much of that memory was only an interpretation on his part. It dawned upon him like a brick falling on concrete: even though he remembers what happened… he didn’t _know_ what happened for sure.

At least, not anymore.

 

…just how much did his memories deviate from the factual truth? What actually happened?

 

_And…did Jaebum even see the same things he saw?_

He recoiled at the thought, closing his eyes.

He felt a throbbing in his head.

 

Considering how things had went down the way they did… _apparently not_.

Maybe it was only pretty words that he had decided to say at that very moment. An in-the-moment kind of thing. Thrown offhandedly, without further thought, without deeper meaning. Jaebum does that from time to time, and he knew that better than anyone.

Even though he’d like to pretend it wasn’t true.

 

A sour feeling crept into his heart.

…and it had meant so much to him.

 

…maybe it was a lie all along, one that he told himself subconsciously, threading the fine boundaries between knowledge and self-deception, all whilst beaming brightly.

…perhaps he had hoped that the lie would come to fruition when he told it enough times.

 

 

_Ah._

 

 

His hands moved to cover over his face, elbows lying on the tops of his knees.

The coldness seemed to be growing unbearable.

 

_Fuck._

 

He was wrong, after all.

It wasn’t ‘all over.’

 

Perhaps nothing even _started_ to begin with.

 

\--/--

 

Day 3

Yugyeom knew something was up because of how his older friend was acting.

 _Well_ , it was a change, and that was great, but at the same time, he felt a distinctive uneasiness set in. Something like a premonition creeping up on him. It was a bad feeling he couldn’t quite explain or shake off.

A couple days back, on their usual walk back home, Jinyoung had thanked him with soft words. It was somewhat uncharacteristic, but not completely unusual. It was just how their friendship worked. Insults and mocking laughter, puns and the ever passive-aggressive threat of death, along with open-palmed slaps… littered with moments of heartfelt sentiments and shared insights.

What they shared was an unspoken but fierce loyalty to one another.

That day, he remembered, as they walked under the starless night sky and on the empty sidewalk, his friend had been smiling more than usual. It was subtle, but he had noticed it all the same. He also sounded more gentle than usual.

 

_‘Yugyeom-ah, I guess you’re right.’_

Yugyeom watched the changing shapes of their elongated shadows as they passed from one streetlamp to another. He was humming along to a tune that was stuck in his head. Jinyoung had introduced the song to him. ‘You’ll get hooked on this,’ he had said.

‘It’s your kind of thing.’

Yugyeom had waved him off at the time with careless words of nonchalance, but wouldn’t you look at him now.

 

_‘I should really take a chance sometimes, huh?’_

 

His hyung’s words echoed off into the silent night. They were quiet, but spirited. He stopped humming for a while, and turned to properly look at the man beside him. He looked refreshed, in an enigmatic kind of way. In all his years of knowing Jinyoung, he had never seen an expression like that. But at the same time, he felt a mild bitterness stinging under his tongue, threatening to spill over. He wanted to say something, give some kind of a warning – but he knew it wouldn’t come out quite right. Especially not when Jinyoung was having that kind of expression, anyway.

Soft eyes turned and met his own. Under the night sky, they looked more alluring than usual, and Yugyeom saw it then: it was _hope_. Something, or rather, some _one_ had reinjected hope into this man’s life. A man, who had by all accounts, willingly given up this notion of hope and forsaken himself.

But now, it was reignited.

 

It was something he himself, had tried, and tried, but failed to do. So maybe that was where the bitterness was coming from. All his efforts, time, mild anguish, care and concern, seemed to be side-lined by some _dude_ that they met mere hours ago. And most exasperatingly, of all the dudes that it could be, it had to be _Im Jaebum_.

 

And Yugyeom was there to see it happen.

Shit, thinking about it now, actually, _he_ was the one that made it happen.

 

 

What happened was, he had dragged Jinyoung to their university’s annual arts fair.

 

 _You need to get out more_ , he had said.

 _It’s gonna be fun_ , he had said. Or whined. With shoulders shaking from side to side and a pout forming on his face.

Jinyoung had begrudgingly compiled after a series of complains and mild death threats, like he knew he would.

 

It was going to be an open and simple affair, really.

It was going to be an ordinary day.

They were going to go grab lunch, check out the carnival, catch a couple of exhibitions, and watch the concert at the end.

 

Yugyeom had it all planned out.

 

But then, nothing really goes as planned, do they?

 

-

 

Kim Yugyeom wasn’t an arts student. Neither was Park Jinyoung.

“…which is all the more reason we –

“Have no reason to go…”/”Should go and take a look!!”

Jinyoung found his own voice of protest drowned out by the shrill voice of his younger friend. _Why the hell_ were they friends again? He groaned inwardly and glanced at the guy. The bastard was grinning brightly, with an aura of phoney innocence. If you didn’t know better, you’d miss that glint of evil that flickered ever so slightly in the darkness of his pupils.

But Jinyoung knew better. He _knew_ Kim Yugyeom.

...he also knew he wouldn’t be getting out of this one.

 

Fast forward ten minutes, he was dressed and putting on his shoes.

 

“Aren’t you EXCITED?” Yugyeom chirped out, all hyped up. Which was getting ridiculous at this point. He was acting like they were going for some one-of-a-kind trip into Mars or something. It was _only_ a bloody arts fair. He rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm.

 

But hey, two can play the game.

“Believe me, I’m bursting with excitement” he said, deadpan, eyes glaring with what he hoped was a poisonous, murderous look.

 

But it only tickled Yugyeom into laughter, and he almost sang back in response, “Glad you feel the same, _hyungggg_.”

 

Oh boy.

It was going to be quite the long day.

 

-

 

Jaebum didn’t fancy waking up early, he never was the early bird. Instead, he is what one would call a nocturnal owl. But it was of no matter. As much as he disliked waking up early, he also wasn’t one to indulge in sleep when he had shit to be done.

And today was one of those days.

 

So, he managed to get himself to wake up at an ungodly early hour, but he felt a dull ache stabbing at the back of his head the very instant he woke up. And he couldn’t quite seem to open his eyes. It was unsurprising, though. He sort of expected it, as a side effect from upsetting his usual biological clock, but it was still a pain in the ass to deal with.

He just sat upright like that for several long moments, before moving his hands to brutally rub his eyes open. It felt like the ache at the back of his head had dissipated, but he couldn’t tell for sure. Maybe it had only dulled in comparison to the new, self-inflicted pain in his eyes. Either way, it was of no matter – at least now he was awake.

 

He looked around his room.

A normal bystander might call it a horrible tragedy of clutter and chaos, but Jaebum preferred to call it an organized, creative mess. It was a cycle of its own. A new creative project would find a new permutation of items in his room. But even though it may not be easy on the eyes, he knew exactly where each and every item was located – every paintbrush, every pencil, every piece of paper. He would only have them reinstated to their original places when the project was completed. It was strange. The mess always felt tolerable until there was no more project to be worked on. Then it became impossible to live with.

And that day was today.

Because today marked the end of a particularly tedious project. He made a mental note to notify the cleaning lady to clean up his apartment before he got back as he proceeded to get up and ready himself for the day ahead.

 

After all, it was the annual arts fair.

And he was having his art piece exhibited.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, just wanted to add a note to thank those who have read the story up to this point  
> thank you for the kind kudos and even deciding to read the story in the first place. 
> 
> sorry if this chapter seems a bit chopped off - I had meant for it to be longer, but wasn't quite satisfied with it yet. but I still wanted to publish a chapter, heh. hopefully the whole chapter goes up soon as intended.


	3. Y

 --/--

 

On the days like these, Jaebum wakes up with a strangely placed, simultaneously empty and full feeling – as if he was both all ready to conquer the day _and_ slump back into bed and a deep slumber.

Even so, he shifts his limbs out of bed and casually reaches over to his phone.

 

He calls _Y_.

But he does so offhandedly, without really meaning to. He simply does it. He doesn’t wait for his call to be picked up, either. As the ringing tone echoes aloud in his apartment on speaker phone, he moves slowly to the bathroom to ready himself for the day ahead.

Because for Im Jaebum, this process of calling Y was more formal and ritualistic, rather than one with deliberate meaning or any ounce of attachment.

 

Who was Y, then?

 

Well, “ _Y_ ” is not the actual name that he has recorded in his phone – it wasn’t like he was illiterate, or that he couldn’t remember names – but it’s the natural identity that that person assumes in Jaebum’s mind.

Y was you; Y was all at once someone and no one.

Across the years, different people enter and exit his life, taking on and removing themselves from being the role of ‘Y’. It was the identity of a faceless person that would waltz into his life and one who would eventually leave. But for the time that he, or she, stayed, they were an acquaintance. Someone to talk to. Someone who bothered about him and what he did on a pretty much daily basis. Someone who’d meet up with him, hang out with him, and generally connected with him on a generic level.

Y was there.

And that is simply all there is to it.

 

Y picks up on the fourth ring.

 

“Hey man!”

And strikes up a pleasant greeting. He talks about the exhibition that was about half the day ahead of them. He is excited, very much so.

This time, this particular Y was an arts major, like himself. 

 

But Y was no one, too. Because who they were didn’t particularly matter – not to Jaebum anyway. Y could be anyone and everyone. If this Y wasn’t an arts major, Jaebum wouldn’t have minded. Or maybe he couldn’t be bothered. There’s a thin difference there, but he hasn’t cared enough to figure it out.

He still would’ve kept Y around. Or Ys, for that matter.

Y was now talking about some rude girl that bumped into him on the train. Jaebum offers a mildly comforting remark as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

 

And the chattering continued. It was present and in the moment, but at the same time, it felt really far away. The mechanic and jagged audio fills up the apartment, bouncing off the walls with a rhythm of its own. Sometimes, Jaebum could lie to himself and pretend that this was a cycle he had subconsciously created because he found such mechanically filtered voices to be oddly calming. Well, it was kind of true, in a way. Over the years, he had developed a certain liking for having some kind audio track of someone speaking to him running in the background. It was reassuring in a sense.

Because it meant that even though he was alone, he was not.

He was connected.

 

He splashed cold water on his face, as Y continues to speak from outside the bathroom where he had left his phone.

He closed his eyes for a second as the water dripped down.

 

For a short second, it almost felt like Y was right there, speaking to him. That Y was there: outside the bathroom, in the kitchen. Jaebum could picture Y standing there: leaning against the counter, talking about the girl on the train and the sweltering heat.

 

He reopened his eyes, and stared back at himself in the mirror. The last remaining droplets of water trickled down his long bangs slowly.

 

 

As much as he hated to admit it, the truth of the matter was, he _needed_ Y. And ‘Y’s, for that matter.

Because he couldn’t be alone.

 

Their voices, even as they were distorted, were a constant reminder that he wasn’t alone.

 

 

“Hey, hyung! You listening…?”

_Like that, see?_

 

Before he could ever creep too deep into the blackness of his being alone, he would be brought back out into the open light.

 

“Oh… yeah.”

 

Ys were a distraction and a company. They helped him to kill time and get through the day. To forget that he was alone. Recollect himself.

Like now.

The disruption allowed Jaebum to coolly resume his routine to ready himself for the day ahead, as he picked up on the conversation with Y.

 

\--/--

 

They walked like that, close enough, but still apart. From time to time, Yugyeom would steal a glance at his (well, understandably grumpy) friend. When Jinyoung met his eyes though, his lips instantly pulled down into a scowl, and sometimes he would also frown with his eyes.

It was really kind of funny.

 

And nice.

 

To be honest, Yugyeom doesn’t know why he chose the arts fair.

 

Ha!

That’s a lie.

And he told it with much sincerity. It was what he told Jinyoung when he had asked.

 

‘ _Why the arts fair?’_

 _“Ohhhh, I don’t knowww. Just for fun?”_ He had shrugged his shoulders innocently. And offered a really, really sweet smile.

 

Because he didn’t want to spoil the fun. So, as much as possible, he gave nothing away. He threw out shifty answers and gave generic responses to his hyung’s questions. It kept the excitement fresh and alive. Well, for _him_ , anyway. But deep down, he suspected that despite his best acting, he didn’t fool Jinyoung completely. He knew that Jinyoung suspected _something_ , but it kept him bubbling with glee and on his toes that his friend didn’t quite _know_ what.

 

What happened was, he had secretly made a submission for the exhibition titled _[By Anonymous: Unknown Masterpieces]_ – an exhibition that would display art pieces under a pseudonym. It was a way to allow students – art students and non-art students alike – to express themselves unabashedly, exploring themes and ideas that they would otherwise supress or shy away from. And, well, as stories and your typical drama plotlines would have it, his submission had _oh-so_ -coincidentally been chosen, among a sea of other qualified art pieces, which left him feeling all cheeky on the inside and bursting with a sizzling pride.

So, _of course_ that made for the perfect excuse to drag Jinyoung along. It was something Jinyoung _had_ to see. C’mon now. It was a once in a blue moon opportunity ( ~~to gloat in Jinyoung’s face~~ ).

 

…but honestly though?

Like _honest_ -honestly though, there was another side to this supposedly ‘hidden agenda’ that Yugyeom had plotted. It was a seemingly simple concept, really: to get Park Jinyoung out of the house.

 

…and that’s not a lie.

 

Why?

Because sometimes Yugyeom thinks, or rather, _fears_ , that Jinyoung might have forgotten the feeling of freely going outside, and how the sun shines down on one’s skin.

 

\--/--

 

Jinyoung didn’t particularly care for arts. Or fairs.

So you could imagine his excitement when he was almost quite literally dragged to one.

 

He’d like to think that he was a reasonable guy though.

(That is, he was a guy that was _able_ to give _reasons_.)

 

So, if it were up to him, he would write up a list of negative implications that he could derive from one’s attending an arts fair, to convince the proponent of such a (ridiculous) suggestion otherwise. Just so, you know, he was _reason_ able. And that he was well justified in his not wanting to go.

It was simply because the pros were outweighed by the cons.

And he was being rational for not wanting to go, and anyone who thinks otherwise – or in this case, anyone who _makes_ him do otherwise was the unreasonable one.

Case in point: Kim. Yu. Gyeom.

 

For a shorter version of this particular dissertation though, Jinyoung would have you know that art fairs were essentially promising two unpromising elements which he had a strong dislike for: people and noise.

Now, taken on their own, those things were not particularly threatening or repulsive. He could concede that much.

( _Yes_ , believe it or not, Jinyoung has human companions that he was fond of – it was a rare and dying-out endangered species. And well, he does occasionally enjoy the noises of nature. Like when the rain falls softly against the window pane in his room. Or when leaves would swing in the wind, making a sashaying and soothing sound.)

But when you put it into perspective, the amount of people that attended their arts fair was staggering. Like, unbelievably so. Even though their university wasn’t especially art-inclined, because it was an annual affair, and the fact that their university was quite prestigious to begin with, the school made it a point to devote a significant amount of resources and budget to promote and celebrate the event. Exhibitions, carnivals, games, performances, and even their well-known alumni celebrities – you name it.

And _spoiler_ alert, with a great number of people came an unbearably great amount of noise. One that was off-putting, to say the least.

 

And Jinyoung usually shunned places with a great number of people, and instead preferred the isolated, quiet places that were untouched by most people. For example, his own house – or more precisely, his dorm room.

He wasn’t always like this though.

It started out with small patterns of change. How he’d start to noticeably shy away from crowds of people, and what he deemed as unnecessary group outings and gatherings. How he only offered soft mumbling one-word responses that made conversations almost impossible to flow. How he’d begun to avoid eye contact with people, even some of his old friends.

He’d eat lunch alone, at the corner of the dining area. Looking down and about, avoiding gazes and physical contact with others. He’d visit the library by himself, wandering by in soft footsteps among the endless aisles of books.

Jinyoung would much rather embrace book spines than bump into another living, breathing body that was in his way.

 

_‘How did you come to be like this, hyung?’_

Yugyeom had asked one random day after his fourth week into the semester. He was an academic year younger than Jinyoung. There was a certain meaning attached to the tone of voice he used, one Jinyoung recognized well enough.

 

_‘You weren’t always like this.’_

Yugyeom had been the only exception he allowed in his rather isolated life – or more accurately, it was more like Yugyeom _barged_ into his life and _allowed himself_ to stay. Jinyoung didn’t really have much of a say in that matter. It was almost as if Yugyeom had showed up one day, with a metaphorical luggage and shoved himself head-first into Jinyoung’s living space, and had clung on to him ever since, unwilling to leave his dear hyung alone.

 

Jinyoung absently stared at the concrete pavement they were walking on. Their bobbing shadows were short against the early afternoon sun. It used to be his own bobbing shadow, but it was now accompanied by another taller one.

In a way, it was a strange sight to see.

 

A jumpy, bouncing, tall ass shadow had appeared beside his own.

He wordlessly appreciates Yugyeom’s kind intentions, though. He knows Yugyeom means well.

 

…Yugyeom.

 

Ah.

There was a misty hint of a smile on the kid’s face.

…Yugyeom was a good kid. Always was …and always will be.

 

But if Jinyoung were to be completely honest, sometimes, just sometimes, he still isn’t sure if he particularly enjoys the company of his younger friend. Sometimes, it feels like even though they were sharing the same physical space, they were in different dimensions altogether, and Jinyoung feels more alone than when he was alone by himself – which was a mindfuck to say the least.

It was difficult to explain, but it was almost like there was this suffocating gap that would emerge between them, and that no matter how he tried, he couldn’t overcome it.

 

He couldn’t make that jump across the deep, gaping chasm.

And then, Jinyoung stopped trying.

 

In between the empty spaces of their conversations, sometimes he’d simply feel overwhelmingly … _alone_ , almost as if he were a third party – a bystander – looking into his own life. A slow, sinking feeling would settle into his heart, and he just let it. It was a silent resignation to the sombre realization that no one could really understand him anyway.

And that it was no longer worth trying.

 

He…

He could get used to it. He had to.

 

So, with vacant eyes, Jinyoung would, more often than not, look at the people passing by, at their faces and quickly passing paces; at his tall bobbing head of a friend that would pop out of nowhere with a face full of excessive glee – like he was watching a muted film.

 

And he did. He had grown used to being by himself. For Jinyoung, being alone and keeping to himself for the most part of the past few years has become a habit that was as addictive as it was comforting.

It became a safe haven, somehow.

It became _his_ safe haven. At least that was what it feels like.

When he was by himself, although he was alone, he felt protected. Because he was confined in a bubble of safety, Jinyoung touched no one, and no one touched him.

And no one could.

 

It was okay. It was cool.

He would convince himself that he needed no one.

(…because no one needed him, too.)

 

So when Yugyeom had asked him

_‘How did you come to be like this, hyung? You weren’t always like this…’_

 

Jinyoung had responded with blank ignorance. 

 

“ _What are you talking about ah, Yugyeom?_ ” his voice had been laced with a layer of thick nonchalance, and he was looking down, as if Yugyeom had just asked about something trivial like the weather, or what he had for breakfast.

 

Their eyes never met.

Jinyoung only remembered how he had been staring down at something with an unnecessary and excessive amount of focus. And that he desperately didn’t want to meet the younger’s gaze.

Or, it was more like he _couldn’t_.

 

He wouldn’t know what to answer. He wouldn’t know what to say.

 

If Yugyeom finally _saw_ him, Jinyoung wasn’t sure if he wanted to be seen anymore.

 

\--/--

 

By the time Jaebum was standing at his apartment door and locking up the place, Y was already at their school. Y was an early bird.

They both didn’t live on campus.

Y because his parents were unwilling to fork up the extra financial burden; Jaebum, well, _because._

 

Just ‘because’.

Because he didn’t need to give a reason for anything. He didn’t have to.

 

So there, “ _because_ ”.

 

It was stupid in a funny way because that was how Jaebum got into his first big fight when he was a kid. He still remembers fragments of the incident. A young Im Jae Bum had outrightly refused to lend his book to another kid. That is, an older and bigger kid, which vaguely resembled a gorilla without a front tooth.

But the young Jaebum wasn’t backing down and he wasn’t giving in.

 

When the gorilla kid had asked him why, Jaebum had only said ‘because’.

Which, in kid-speak, essentially translated to ‘I don’t want to lend you my book _because_ I don’t want to lend you my book because…’

 

…which _then_ evolved into a series of angry words and juvenile attempts at swearing. Apparently, gorillas are pretty social creatures too, Jaebum learnt that day, and this one in particular had a mighty troop of its own. Soon, he found himself trapped in the middle, surrounded by of a group of four other kids who were taking turns throwing spits or insults to his face.

 

He doesn’t recall his immediate reaction, though.

He only remembers that he spent an awfully long time staring at the ground they were standing on, clutching on to the book with a meaningless amount of strength. The book hadn’t even been _that_ important.

 

Had he been scared?

Angry?

Did he feel challenged? Indignant?

 

He couldn’t quite seem to remember.

 

He only remembers how the words they spewed felt like a shit storm of loud noise.

And then, out of nowhere, he threw a punch. He loosely remembers hearing a distinctive cracking sound, but he couldn’t be sure if the sound came from his hand or the other kid’s jaw.

 

 

It was of no matter, though.

Because the very next day, Jaebum got an apology from the gorilla kid and his troop of followers. All five of them. In front of the entire school. The first thing in the morning.

 

He forgave all of them but one.

And that one kid was expelled, almost immediately.

 

And after that, in the days that followed, nobody really dared to cross his path again.

 

Why?

 

_‘Because.’_

 

\--/--

 

Because –

There are many things you can do when you’re rich.

And Jaebum learnt that when he was young.

 

To be fair, it was difficult not to.

He had watched it happen – the magic that money can do. It started small, as most things do. He was a kid offhandedly commenting how the newest toy car collection looked _cool_. Especially the limited edition set that was on TV. It’d be _cool_ to play with that. He remembered saying something along those lines, but it wasn’t that he had some kind of burning desire to possess it, or that he’d die if he couldn’t have the new set of toy cars. It was just what it was.

_It’d be cool._

That’s all.

 

The next day, the very _cool_ toy set appeared on the living room table, all shiny and wrapped up in clear plastic – as though it had jumped out from the television screen and settled itself on the table.

 

He had stared at it for several long seconds. He didn’t open it, didn’t touch it. He just stood there and stared. Until he heard a deep and low voice echoing down from the top of the stairs.

Even then, he didn’t look up. After all, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

 

“That’s for you.”

The voice boomed aloud, like it was an announcement of some sort; like it was some matter-of-fact statement like ‘water is wet’.

 

A pause.

“Heard from the butler that you wanted it.”

 

Cool, cut-short and simple. Not a syllable wasted.

 

When Jaebum finally looked up to where the voice was coming from, he only caught sight of his father’s back view and his long legs as they strutted away.

 

_Click, clack._

They echoed down the hallway. And then, he was gone.

 

He looked back at the boxed up toy set, and held it in small hands. He blinked.

It felt so strange.

 

He shook it for a moment, as if to make sure the box wasn’t empty. And that it was real. He felt the toy pieces inside move along with his movements.

It was strange because he couldn’t even be sure if he wanted the toy set _at all_. But here it was. And it was _his_. Like it belonged to him from the very beginning.

 

 

Jaebum learnt that money meant power. It didn’t take him long to realise it, and soon he was well acquainted with, and understood the mechanisms that came attached with this kind of ‘power’ he possessed.

He observed it executed, and slowly, but surely, he replicated it – authoritative power over another person. He understood a basic fact of life: if you had enough money, you could do just about anything.

Case in point – Jaebum versus the gorilla kids.

Things would click into place at a mere shout of an order, a click of a button, and even the slightest of expressions – when he would raise his eyebrows in stark displeasure –engrave fear and dread into the core of the servants of the Im Residence.

 

You can do _so_ many things when you’re rich.

Hell, sometimes it feels like you could do _anything_.

 

Jaebum jingled the keys in the palm of his hands, eyes half lidded. It would only take him a short walk to reach the art exhibition and meet Y.

 

Thinking back now, he really didn’t need to punch the gorilla kid’s friend, or have him so harshly expelled.

_Right?_

 

He sighed a little.

That very scene of him being surrounded by those kids resurfaced in his mind again. He had been standing still, clutching on to his book. He wasn’t even staring at them – he was watching the ground so intensely, goddamned it.  

He was minding his own business for the most part, and THEN.

 

Without realising it, the grip he had on his keys tightened.

The sharper edges of one of the keys bit into his skin.

 

An icy breath of a bitter laugh scraped past his throat and spilled from his mouth.

 

“Who do you think you are, _huh_?”

“He’s only a bastard child who hasn’t got a mother!”  

WHAM.

 

_Hah._

 

Who was he kidding?

If he came across those words, and that piece of shit of a kid again today, he would have probably done worse to the damned guy.

 

Or maybe, it should be like this: Jaebum learnt from young that there are many things you can do when you’re rich, _and_ have a dead mother.

 

\--/--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a backstory of some sort; i thank you for reading.


	4. shades

\--\\--

 

Day 337

 

The kid was taller than he remembered.

The weak looking boy held him up by the collar of his shirt. If he were to be honest, it almost feels like he could well be lifted off of his feet by this surprisingly forceful strength that he hadn’t seen coming. But knowing Jaebum, this would be something he’d never admit – at least not out loud.

Instead, he’d blame it on how he was still tired and weak, and recovering from the events that happened some hours back. All things considered, it wasn’t really a lie.

More like a half truth.

 

That and the fact that Yugyeom was presently boiling with a fierce but silent rage. He never knew the kid had it in him. Which was why he had, well, thoughtlessly, opened his front door in the first place – the little fucker had been banging on his door like some kind of _maniac_ for the past, what, how many minutes now?

If he kept up with all that slamming and shouting, it would only create another problem that Jaebum had to deal with on top of the pile of shit he was already in.

The little shit.

 

And anyway, it was only ‘Jinyoung’s stupid little friend’, he had thought, as he unlocked the door, displeasure stark in his narrowed eyes and twisted lips.

 

Only to find himself pulled out of his apartment and pushed hard against the walls of the corridor.  
Abruptly manhandled.

 

It was an unfamiliar feeling and Jaebum didn’t like it one bit.

The hands on his collar yanked hard, forcing Jaebum to look straight into a pair of dilated pupils that was glaring menacingly at him.

_‘Where the fuck is my hyung_?!’

 

The boy spat those words to his face, not in a loud shout, but in a harsh and ragged tone of voice that did not conceal the angry impatience he was feeling.

Jaebum felt his own eyebrows lowering as he stared right back at the boy and into his seething eyes.

 

Intimidation like that would never work against him. If anything, it only rubbed him the wrong way and made him _pissed_. For fuck’s sake, _he_ was supposed to be the unquestionably intimidating one.

 

A heavy tension settled on the silence between them.

 

Then, Jaebum felt the right corner of his lips twisting upwards on their own.

A sneering look of plain contempt.

 

He couldn’t help it, it was an instinctive response he had developed over the years. Rub him the wrong way, and _well_. Don’t fucking expect him to cooperate, or get shit from him.

He’d rather cut his nose to spite his face.

 

Even though he was just as concerned, or maybe even more so, he didn’t say anything. He _couldn’t_. Not when he was subjected to the petty will of another guy. And especially not to a _kid_ like Kim Yugyeom.

 

His lack of a response edged on the kid who leaned in closer to him, with his chin slightly shaking.

 

Yugyeom’s jaw clenched, unclenched, and clenched again. But his hands never once loosened their firm grip on Jaebum.

 

He leaned in until both their faces were barely an inch apart from each other, and their flaring noses almost touched.

 

Then, abruptly, without saying another word, or giving any kind of an indication, he forcefully jerked his hands up and away, flinging Jaebum off to the side in a swift and strong movement.

Jaebum stumbled on loose footing and in surprise, disgruntled that one of his knees had hit the ground before he really realized what had happened. Even so, he made no such sound that may display any semblance of being weak or unsettled. He merely grabbed himself off from the ground and stood up quickly and steadily, patting away the dirt. Thinking about how the kid should be thanking his lucky stars that he was ‘Jinyoung’s friend’.

If some other guy had done _that_ shit to him- _tch._ Let’s just say he’d be lucky to leave Jaebum’s presence without a fucking limp.

 

Yugyeom had stepped into his apartment in the short time he was knocked over, and was calling out for ‘Jinyoung hyung’ at different corners of the apartment, in what felt like a whiny and worried tone. He heard some _clanks_ and _bangs_ which he suspected came from the kid navigating around the mess that was still in his apartment.

Which also meant that the kid was essentially trespassing on private property. _His_ private property. An angry voice hissed in his head.

 

The little _fucking_ shit.

 

Crossing his arms, Jaebum hoped that he’d trip up on something and break his scrawny little neck.

 

But Yugyeom didn’t.

He stepped out of the apartment some moments later, limbs still intact, with a brewing anger still storming in his eyes.

 

‘Where is he?’

 

Jaebum leaned against the wall, arms still folded, a haughty expression overcoming his features. 

‘Well, not _here_ , apparently.’ He offered in a mocking low tone.

 

‘I asked you, WHERE is _he_?!’

 

Jaebum scoffed, letting out a stale breath of air.

An effortless shrug popped up on his shoulders for a short second, before he looked Yugyeom directly in the eyes.

 

With a nasty smirk and a glint in his eyes, he rolled out the words slowly.

And deliberately.

 

‘ _As if_ … _I’m_ gonna’ tell you where _he_ is.’

 

A smug smile.

He ended off with a careless click of his tongue.

 

_Fucking hell._

 

It felt like his quiet words echoed down the entire corridor, with each syllable sounding off louder than the last. The blunt words spun around in Yugyeom’s head, sounding sinister and tasting sour.

 

Only then did two thoughts really strike him.

The first one being that this right here, this exchange, if you could even call it that – _this_ , was going nowhere. And that it would only go nowhere.

It was only a waste of time – and _time_ Yugyeom did not have.

 

He stared at the man who was facing him.

 

And two… _this_ was who, and what Jinyoung had been dealing with.

 

He swallowed. It felt like something heavy and unspeakable was stuck in his throat.

He took a step back and away.

 

And then another.

 

 

Still looking at Jaebum straight in the eyes, he spoke, meaning everything he was about to say.

 

‘I wish Jinyoung hyung _never_ met _you_.’

 

With that, he turned and walked away in hasty footsteps, tied up with a worry greater than when he had first arrived.

 

-

 

Unbeknownst to him, though, the one lone standing figure behind him, who had been leaning against the wall with folded arms had slumped down onto the ground, his upper arms lifelessly lying open on his knees. Even though his eyes were open, they were half-lidded and vacant.

 

Hollow.

Glassy.

 

Staring at his motionless hands that were dangling in front of him.

 

A barely-heard whisper of sunken words left his wretched mouth, sounding broken and harsh – a far cry from the self-entitled righteous words he spoke of mere moments before.

 

 

‘ _I wish he never met me, too._ ’

 

\--/--

 

 

‘ _So_ … you’re really not gonna tell me which piece is yours…?’ Y pressed harder, trying to fish an answer out from Jaebum’s tightly sealed lips – partly out of genuine curiosity and partially because…well, he felt ripped off.

‘C’mon! I already told you which was _mine_ …!’

 

‘Too bad.’

Jaebum shrugged and offered a laugh without meaning as they continued walking around the exhibition gallery. They were currently walking through _[By Anonymous: Unknown Masterpieces]_ – an exhibition that both their submissions, under their respective pseudonyms, had been selected for, and was on display.

 

‘And anyway, you said that on your own accord. _I_ didn’t promise anything.’  

Y pouted a little, immediately disliking those words and how true they were. In his own crazy excitement, he had indeed revealed his own piece of art, without using it as a wager for Jaebum’s piece. What a waste.

 

Their slow footsteps spontaneously came to a stop at a certain sculpted piece that was pretty eye-catching, to say the least. It was something that looked like it took a painstaking amount of effort and precision to complete – down to the finest of details, all of which were beautifully etched out.

It shone spectacularly under its very own spotlight.

Apparently, the curators, too, took a special liking to the piece.

 

‘Woah,’ was the only breath of a word Y said, and Jaebum had to agree with the admiration underlining his tone of voice. Some of the exhibited pieces they had seen so far were really no joke – and they had barely entered the exhibition. He wasn’t much of a sculptor himself, but you didn’t need to be one to know that _that_ , the art piece right there, definitely required skilful hands, artistic direction, and a _hell_ lot of patience to finish.

 

Notice, though, that Jaebum only really acknowledged the technicalities for the sculpted piece?

 

He eyed the description.

It was titled, _Flowers in my Heart_ , by _A Stranger_.

The poetic sentences that accompanied the title described a dainty story of a one-sided crush on a certain florist; how the artist himself had been a random stranger, then a customer, and now, had these very same flowers growing in his heart.

 

In all honesty, it was kind of sweet.

 

Y looked at him for a short moment, as if waiting for him to comment something, but Jaebum remained silent as he fixed his gaze back to the piece and observed it.

 

The thing was – as much as it was a beautiful piece, with such exquisite workmanship… _that_ was all there was to it. He pursed his lips briefly.

 

That’s _it_.

 

It was supposed to tell a story – the story of the artist’s one sided love.

But it didn’t.

 

Not to Jaebum, anyway.

 

His eyebrows furrowed.

 

There was no depth. No story. No deeper meaning.

Nothing.

 

By looking at the art piece on its own, it didn’t make him _feel_ anything about some one-sided love. In fact, if Jaebum hadn’t read the description, he would have never guessed it.

It simply didn’t speak to him like it should have.

 

And _if_ he wanted to be crude – and god knows _how_ cruel his words can be – he would even say that it was a tasteless and pitiful deadweight piece of an object. Jaebum wouldn’t really call it ‘art’, _no_.

 

He couldn’t.

He would only say it was a damn shame.

 

Because it _could’ve_ been art, but as he looked at the stunning object lying in front of him, in its present state – it simply wasn’t.

Not to him, anyway.

 

He nodded though, feeling the burden of Y’s stare grow on him. It was like a silent but formal way of saying ‘ _Yep, that’s a nice piece of art_.’ Which was kind of _like_ a lie, but not really.

Because that’s the beauty of art and its many faces.

 

Y nods back, eyes brimming with adulation.

 

In Jaebum’s mind, art, for _him_ , in its various forms, whatever medium you should so choose to adore, should tell you _something_. Make you feel. Inspire you. Make you ignited. Give you hope. Make you pissed. Tell you a story – a message, an idea, a _whatever_ – but some _thing_. Which the, granted: beautiful with a capital _B_ , slab of white clay in front of him did not do.

Nothing against the particular piece of art work, though. Because Jaebum knew exactly how difficult it could be to convey and express one’s feelings and ideas through a wordless medium that was free and open to interpretations.

 

But… that’s _his_ kind of art. What art meant to Jaebum.

And what his own creations aspired to be.

 

What he is trying to pursue.

 

There’s a dilemma attached to his philosophy about art, though. A curious, unending question that comes up quite frequently to people in general, albeit in different forms: if an art piece doesn’t make you, the viewer, feel what the creator had set out to make you feel – whose fault was it?

 

Do we blame the viewer for lacking an artistic eye?

Or do we point to the lacking skills of the artist who has failed to express what he sought to?

 

…and what if the artist had intended _x_ but the viewer interprets _y_?

 

There is no perfect answer, really. And that’s part of the beauty of art.

It all depends. Art is a fluid body of water, and Jaebum was presently floating a boat on it; directing his own waves, finding his own direction. He recognizes how people can, and will inevitably think differently, while persisting in his personal understanding and expressions of art.

Getting his message across.

To be genuinely heard and seen.

 

 

Wordlessly, they picked up their footsteps again, and walked on to the next piece in the exhibition.

 

Jaebum’s itching a little on the inside despite his steady footsteps because he hasn’t seen, or really found, where his piece was being displayed.

_Yet._

 

It feels like there’s a light, dizzy buzzing in his head. 

It was exciting, yes, but it was also an icky pinch in the gut.

 

A vague question burns in his head and Jaebum can’t help but wonder, and thread on thin hope that someone – a _single_ person would do – just might be able to see his art for what he had intended it to be.

 

-

 

Y was still chattering away about the sculpted piece until he noticed a semi-distracted Jaebum who wasn’t listening. And maybe hadn’t been listening since the beginning.

So he stopped talking for a moment. But Jaebum doesn’t notice this.

Because, _of_ _course_ he doesn’t.

 

Y looks down at this feet that were stepping across the clear white tiles of the gallery. The lighting of the gallery was a dance of differently aligned rays, so there were a bunch of shadows thrown out from his feet.

Y looked at them through brooding eyes. It wasn’t the first time something like this happened.

 

It was just what Im Jaebum does best.

It came to Y’s attention that his shoelaces were undone. So he flung his leg – the one with the undone laces – out front. _Thud._ And stopped walking. It was quite the movement in the spaced out gallery. So a few pairs of eyes turned his way when he did that, as if curious about the suddenly jerky motion.

 

But the footsteps walking alongside his own never slowed.

And they never stopped.

 

That was why…Y thinks he doesn’t like Im Jaebum very much.

 

He quickly bends over to tie up his laces, eyeing a certain pair of feet that was in front of him, and getting further away.

 

 _Always_ getting further away.

 

As soon as the laces were all done up, Y quickened his footsteps to catch up with Jaebum, landing a tap on his left shoulder.

 

‘Hey, wait up!’ he called. His voice did not betray the slightest hint that he might have been upset or annoyed, though. It only sounded like a cheery, excited exclamation.

With casual turn of his head, and slightly raised eyebrows, Jaebum acknowledged Y. That’s all. And that’s all he could ever really expect. Or hope for. Jaebum nodded off to his right side, suggesting that they should head that way.

 

And so they did.

 

\--\\--

 

Day 109

Jaebum naturally huffed up a laugh at his friend’s clever little non-joke joke, and his friend returned a small smile of his own, curving up the corners of his lips. It’s funny because this was a man that made him laugh at the most unfunniest of things.

 

And it never got old.

Which was refreshing, for a change.

 

Because Im Jaebum wasn’t a huge laugher. No, he wasn’t that one guy that laughs a bit too loudly in public trains. Neither was he one to laugh so hard that he’d slap his knees, or someone who would guffaw into an awkwardly cowered over position, with tears streaming down his face. Nope, he wasn’t that kind of guy.

No specific reason, really.

 

Just ‘ _because_.’

 

He grew up that way. He never really had a particularly jovial disposition to begin with, and alongside the environment and circumstances he was brought up in…it was simply who Jaebum came to be.

Someone who didn’t really laugh a lot – well, at least not _naturally_.

 

But then, you know…you _learn_.

 

And as he was a kid growing up, Jaebum learnt that laughter, and laughing, was a social thing. And that sometimes, as much as he felt no urge to laugh, there was an implicit expectation there, lying in the shadows.

A silent invitation for laughter, he learns, was one that he _has_ to accept.

No questions asked, no other options.

 

“You’re _supposed_ to _laugh_.”

 

It was not a pleasant lesson.

Jaebum still remembers that stinging slap he received when he was barely six. And his father’s angry, belittling eyes gleaming in the dimly-lit room.

 

He had been told a stupid joke by a stupid uncle.

 

So –

‘It’s _stupid_.’ was what he had said.

Straight faced, bold gaze. 

He wasn’t _wrong._

 

Jaebum remembered how the wide grin plastered on his uncle’s face stilled blankly, and that his nostrils flared a little.

 

Jaebum’s young voice rang off in the quickly quieting room.

A pin drop silence. 

 

‘It’s not funny.’

 _He wasn’t wrong_.

 

But of course he was. He was always wrong to a certain pair of angry and narrowed eyes.  

 

Laughing, a young Jaebum learns, was part of ‘etiquette’. It was sometimes a formality – as a well-mannered gesture; an indication that he was someone good-natured, with a sense of humour. Like who he was _supposed_ to be.

 

Ha- _ha_ -to-the- _fucking-_ Ha.

 

Over the years now, he’s been told that he has a nice laugh.

Well, _he fucking should_ by this point, goddamn it. Jaebum _taught_ himself _how_ to laugh – for heaven’s sake. After that one very uneventful experience, he spent so much time watching people and _how_ the fuck they laughed. Hearing the meaningless non-word word repeated so many times through so many different wide open, and diseased mouths.

 

“Ha.”

“Ha.”

“Ha.”

 

And repeating it.

 

Watching himself in the mirror.

The way his lips moved. The voice that he sounded out loud.

 

Until the unnatural sound gelled natural, and rolled out of his mouth with just the right amount of good humour. So _of course_ Jaebum laughed beautifully, and ‘has a nice laugh’.

He _knew_ he ‘has a nice laugh’.

 

How could he not?

 

But because of that, catching himself laughing sometimes felt like he was merely producing meaningless and loud noises. Meaninglessly loud noises. Loudly meaningless noises.

 

 _Noise_.

 

Laughing wasn’t ‘ _fun_ ’.

He didn’t like it, or hate it.

He didn’t mind it, really. For the most part.

 

It’s just that now, when he hears those ‘ _ha ha ha’_ coming from his own mouth, sometimes he forgets.

If he was laughing because something was funny, or because it was something he _has_ to laugh at.

 

-

 

But with Jinyoung…

 

It was _strange_ … to say the least.

 

Sometimes, from the most random of words to the _stupidly_ face-palm-worthy puns the guy threw – in the most peculiar timings, too – Jaebum suspects that Jinyoung just wasn’t quite right in the head.

Like _who_ in the right mind would start randomly talking about _dolphins_ – of all things! – when they were having a semi-serious conversation, talking about a movie they just watched, discussing its literary themes.

Like what even _–?!_

 

…but then the dilemma comes: because _then_ he has to admit that he, _too,_ wasn’t quite right in the head. Because in the days that he got to know Jinyoung and became acquainted with the _type_ of jokes he told, it didn’t take him long to realize that _he_ was usually the one who laughed the loudest and in quite an uncontrollable manner, depending on the severity of the joke, at said jokes.

Like that one random dolphin interjection – Jaebum had actually _went along with it_. Naturally. And built upon it. Without thinking, without questioning, _heck_ , he probably didn’t even realize that he was going with it. Only that he did.

And he laughed, with a shaking stomach and crinkled eyes.

 

 

Another time, he had erupted into a fit of mad giggles. In public.

And he couldn’t stop.

 

And then Jinyoung started laughing at _his laughing_ , which made him laugh even harder than he thought was possible.

 

And by the end of it, he doesn’t quite remember why they even _started_ laughing in the first place. Only that they were laughing so, so badly. And that there was this giddy, aching pain ringing in his abdomen for the longest time afterwards.

 

Jaebum had said then, with a faded smile, when his mouth could utter proper words again, “Jinyoung-ah, that- that really wasn’t _that_ funny.”

 

Jinyoung blinked at him, once.

He still had a faint smile on his face, too.

 

“…I _know_.” He had said, starting to look all pleased with himself.

 

A pause.

Playful eyes twinkling.

 

And then, with a certain sass embedded in his voice, he continued.

 

“ _That’s_ why I said it.”

 

Jaebum remembers the way Jinyoung’s cheeks puffed up when he said that, like he was feeling both amused and incredibly cheeky.

And he could only think: _Ah. Jinyoung…_

_…Jinyoung was an idiot._

 

Then, quickly, as if he had heard the very thoughts in Jaebum’s head, the corners of his friend’s mouth licked into a wicked, knowing smile.

 

“…and was that why _you_ laughed…?”

 

A stupid laugh escaped his own lips the instant Jinyoung said that, as if to further prove his point. Jinyoung’s right hand moved to cover over the small laugh coming from his mouth.

 

 _And well…yeah. He was an idiot, too_.

 

 

Jaebum still isn’t decided on whether he was completely sold, or in favour of the effect that ‘Jinyoung-jokes’ had on him, though. After all, he liked having a certain rule of control over what he does, and that _does_ include being able to control his own damn laughter. And, all things considered, he _did_ undergo that period of harsh, self-taught laughter-training, which meant that he shouldn’t be _that_ easily affected by what Jinyoung blurts out in a spur of a moment…and _yet._

 

_Hm._

 

What Jaebum could say for certain though, was that in those pink shades of laughter, he definitely didn’t need to question himself whether he was laughing because something was funny, or because he has to.

Those bursts of laughter that erupted from his chest were most positively him laughing brightly and freely, out of his own volition. Not because it would be a nice thing to do, not because it was expected of him, and certainly _not_ because of some ‘etiquette’- have you seen the way he sometimes _snorts_ in between breaths of dying laughter because of the bullshit that pours out of Jinyoung’s pretty mouth?

Yep, definitely no consideration for etiquette there.

 

-

 

Jaebum looks out the window for a short bit, then glances at the man sitting from across him.

They were in a quaint café that afternoon, sipping on coffee, sharing stories. Conversations flowing from one topic to another, without any real direction, or really, without a need for one. Something about the café felt especially homely, but Jaebum couldn’t really figure out what it was.

But there was a calming feeling floating about. And he liked it, quite a bit.

 

Maybe it had something to do with the faded daffodil yellow walls of the café.

 

For a while, after Jinyoung’s unfunny funny punchline, they settled into an easy peace of quiet.

Across from him, Jinyoung looked over his own shoulder, into the distance. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. The smile on Jinyoung’s lips broke off after a while, but there was still a pleasant expression that shined in his eyes. 

 

In his head, he hears Jinyoung’s words play back.

That tone of voice, and those precise words.

 

…and how something felt _strange_.

 

Jaebum fiddles with his phone, checking the time and random notifications for a bit.

 

 _‘Maybe, I don’t even need a life at all_.’ Jinyoung had said.

 

Not to say that Jinyoung’s voice gave away the slightest hint of anything being _off_. Because they most definitely did not. The way he said it was timed perfectly for comedic effect. The words had rolled off his tongue smoothly, and were delivered precisely, as you would when you were telling a joke or making a pun, or having a clever play on words.

 

But… you know.

 

You get to _know_ a person.

Like Im Jaebum got to know Park Jinyoung.

 

And so, even though nothing was said outrightly, he heard some _thing_. Jaebum heard this dark glint of something crooked clawing on those innocent sounding words.

The time on his phone flashed _16:03_.

 

He vaguely considers bringing it up. He rolls his right thumb over his phone screen, while stringing together the words to say in his head, to ask Jinyoung about it. Looking up again, he felt his mouth opening – words almost about to spill and then-

 

He got a good look at Jinyoung.

And his misty, distracted eyes.

 

-he closed his mouth shut again.

The thought of bringing it up, gone.

_Evaporated._

 

He caught a strange biting feeling stuck in his throat then.

There was something a lot darker that flickered behind those eyes.

 

Whatever it was, Jaebum didn’t know.

Yet he _felt_ it, somehow.

 

And in that single turning moment of time, he felt uncertain about what he _could_ say. Or if he _should_ say anything at all.

 

That look in Jinyoung’s eyes, while a lot darker, had been strikingly familiar to a vision of himself that was imprinted in his own head. It reminds him of a certain period of blank days he had went through in his earlier years of youth.

When the world had felt all at once overwhelming, but not enough. When all the colours felt drained from his life and he would numbly pass the days; thoughtlessly dragging his heavy footsteps into a new day, with a beaten down and exhausted heart.

 

It was the same kind of feeling he saw in those pleasant-looking eyes, _despite_ those pleasant-looking eyes. After all, Jaebum knew it best – how laughter was sometimes the ever-deceiving mask that people used to hide the ugliest of truths. He studied it, remember…?

 

Because saying the truth was too painful, and withholding it… was too suffocating.

 

So, _laughter_.

The seemingly harmless and fun platform of a solution to get part of the truth out, while pretending that things were okay and acceptable.

 

The dark jagged edges in Jinyoung’s eyes have long disappeared.

 

But Jaebum was never one who liked pretty words either, be it being the one who says it, or being at the receiving end of such words. The clichéd stuff like ‘ _Oh, it’s going to be alright,_ ’ or ‘ _I’m always going to be here for you_.’

‘ _Everything’s going to be just fine_.’

 

It wouldn’t feel _right_ to say those words.

 

Jinyoung was now taking a sip of his Americano.

 

Who could really say that and _commit_ to it, anyway?

Did these people even know what they were saying?

 

“Going to be _alright_ ”?

_Really?_

 

People can’t even predict the weather five minutes ahead of time with a dead-on accuracy, and to say something like that?

 

And… “ _Always_ going to be here for _you_ ”?

_Tch._

Not that he wanted to be bitter or sound like a wet blanket, but no.

To Jaebum, these were simply empty promises and false hopes; easy, comforting words to say to another vulnerable and fragile person. But they were part of the reason why the same people would stumble and falter now and again – because they were fed a false truth in a weak moment; because they subconsciously held these words to be the truth.

 

…they had been set up for a certain failure.

 

Because the harsh truth was, nothing was for certain.

 

A bitter punch quelled in his gut.

…Jaebum had learnt that the hard way.

 

 

So he wouldn’t say empty words, or give out any false promises like that.

He _couldn’t_.

 

…and especially not to Jinyoung. 

 

 

Then, it happens.

Before he really had a clear direction of where his thoughts were, or where his words were going to go, his mouth had started throwing words into the open.

 

He hears a shifty uncertainty in his own voice as he starts –

 

“But actually…”

 

He wouldn’t tell a lie. And he knew _he_ probably couldn’t make things okay for Jinyoung.

 

“…that’s great.”

 

Nobody really could.

It had to be up to _him_.

 

Park Jin Young.

 

But the moment for asking about the joke had passed him by.

So Jaebum went along with the joke instead.

 

In the only way he knew best: _by meaning everything he said_.

 

“It’d be great if we lived together.”

 

He couldn’t make sure that everything would be okay.

So he wouldn’t say that.

 

But, for now, what Jaebum _could_ be sure of was that _he_ … he would be there with him at least.

It was the least he could do. Previous memories of Jinyoung’s kindness flashed through his mind in a blur.

Jinyoung had given him time and space when he most needed it… and now, it was his turn.

 

“Someday.”

 

And…if this _idiot_ of a funny man can make someone like him laugh…?

Jaebum feels a blissful warmth settling in his chest, and a smile coming up on his lips.

 

 _Hell_ , Park Jinyoung could do anything.

 

 

 --/--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there, thanks for reading up til here! this is my personal favourite chapter so far, heh. 
> 
> a couple of important (kinda) notes: 
> 
> 1 for Day #109 in this Chapter, please refer back to Chapter 2 (meaning) for a better, fuller understanding of the nuances/perspective they each have, esp. if you haven't read that chapter yet :) Or if you have, i hope you'll take another look at it too. 
> 
> 2 um, i guess i have a strange way of writing that may not be as easy to read...? kinda? haha. this is a little note of apology bc i guess when i write it usually snowballs into a backstory that has another backstory and that might not be the easiest to read. thanks for deciding to read anyway. sorry if it's difficult to read. i do hope it's not confusing though... hm. 
> 
> 3 a note on the story in general: it's a delicate play on perspectives... is what i wanna say. so there's quite a bit on their thoughts and thinking... which i hope you'll like reading about. (Like for this chapter - that bit on Jaebum's understanding of art/his philosophy about it) So, it's not actual story-story completely, which I get may not be to some people's liking... but i hope it's not too boring to read about. 
> 
> cheers!


	5. platinum

\--/--

 

Jinyoung doesn’t say much when he enters the gallery.

Their footsteps silently graced the floors of the exhibition and almost immediately, Jinyoung’s eyes wander about, drifting from art piece to art piece, taking in the lighting and the displays, the general setup of the venue. How things were beautifully spaced out, and meaningfully pieced together. It was a lot to take in, and he felt a strange novelty to be in such a new space that was unfamiliar, and rather different to the scenery he was accustomed to seeing in his normal day to day life.

There’s a murmur of voices slightly audible in the distance, as if it were a breeze of white noise playing in the background. But Jinyoung doesn’t mind this. It feels like a rare, comfortable state of balance between noise and silence.

A nice equilibrium.

 

And, it felt like the exhibition, and the whole idea to visit the arts fair wasn’t so bad after all.

 

Jinyoung glances to his left briefly, over his own shoulder, and the tiniest of chuckles escapes him silently.

Yugyeom had noticeably toned down, being ever mindful about their present presence in an art gallery, and has matched his actions and the way he carried himself accordingly. Gone was the thoughtlessly rebellious youth that had eagerness scribbled over all his face. The kid who would always express all his emotions through a set of hyperactive movements – even though Jinyoung could tell that _that_ part of his younger friend wasn’t completely gone, really. It was simply suppressed and restrained, under a touch of maturity that was developing well, he muses.

Which was nice for a change, and fun to watch.

 

After all, it’s a strangely amusing sight to see a Yugyeom like this, all stiff and at attention… with fidgety fingers dancing erratically by his sides, trying to keep still. Jinyoung thinks he might spill a laugh if he isn’t careful. Despite his unnaturally restrained actions, Yugyeom’s eyes flashed about with beats of wavering excitement, dodging from corner to corner, shining, almost like a child’s gaze upon entering an amusement park.

 

_Somethings never really change, huh?_

 

A light-hearted feeling steadies in Jinyoung’s heart as he looks at his younger friend with thoughtful eyes. A series of old memories and images from their younger days together cloud up in his mind.

 

Noticing his hyung’s gaze on him though, Yugyeom snapped out of the trance-like state he was in. Then, in an unusually quiet voice, he leans down, nearer to the back of Jinyoung’s ear, and whisper-talks to the best of his ability.

‘-Hyung, this is that anonymous exhibition I told you about. You know, the one that is really co _O_ l-’

 

Yugyeom’s voice breaks off midsentence, cracking off tune and in an embarrassingly louder key. Almost immediately, Jinyoung felt his own cheeks puff and rounding up, his lips thinned themselves together, forming a single line, hiding the laughter that was triggered and almost spilling. His shoulders shuddered reflexively, and his eyes smiled – a little mocking, as if to say _you idiot, only you could do such a thing_ , and a little because it was genuinely unexpected and unexpectedly funny, and semi-unfortunate, in a _I can’t believe that happened to you_ kind of way.

If Jinyoung had to guess, he would think that it must have been because of Yugyeom’s strained voice box breaking under the pressure of his sudden, drastically softened and slowed-down tone of voice.

 

Some heads turn their way, and he could almost feel the flaming heat radiating from Yugyeom’s quickly reddening ears. His friend’s eyes that have been ninja-sniping the gallery immediately dropped to look down at the floors they were standing on, like it was the masterpiece of all artworks to be appreciated.

Scratch that, it’s not only fun to watch – it’s fun _ny_ too. Jinyoung finally breaks into a small quiet laugh of his own, shaking his head ever so slightly.

 

_This kid…_

_Ah._

 

Finding the kindness in his heart to decide that that was punishment enough – the gazes of random amused onlookers and the lost look of unease that Yugyeom was sporting – Jinyoung causally pointed off to a random section of the gallery. He patted Yugyeom on his loosely hanging arms, as a way of suggesting that they head that way instead, to escape the current gazes that were directed at them.

 

‘Yah, this kind hyung just _saved_ your life, you know that?’ Jinyoung had joked when they were a suitable distance away from the earlier crowd of people. But he said it in a serious manner with a solemn undertone, as if part of a ceremonial speech.

With his ears still carrying a flush of pink, Yugyeom mocked a bow and his annoying hyung, but smiled all the same. Wide smile, nice cheery eyes.

 

‘Thank youu _uuu_ hyung~’

 

It was just what Jinyoung does best.

 

Yugyeom grinned. The earlier embarrassment almost all dispelled. A comfortable feeling rests inside his heart. Because it was also an indication that his hyung – the same guy who had been so reluctant to come along with him was having a fairly enjoyable time, and that was a good sign indeed.

 

But the comforting spell was short-lived. As soon as it came, it left. And Yugyeom was left spinning in a swirl of anxieties and bad nerves. Because _here_ they were.

In the gallery.

 

_[By Anonymous: Unknown Masterpieces]_

 

He swallowed a nervous breath, feeling the butterflies coming up. It was only a matter of time before they reached his submission, and _boy_ , wasn’t that something to anticipate. Even though this was what he had planned, and had been hoping for, the fidgety feeling in his heart couldn’t quite quell now that it was all in the flesh, and happening before his very eyes.

Jinyoung was a couple of steps in front of him, looking relaxed.

 

Yugyeom took a deep breath.

 

The ever unsuspecting victim.

_If only he knew…_

 

Yugyeom bit down a little on his lower lip, rubbing his hands by his sides. _Welp, it’s too late to go back now_. He offhandedly declared in his mind, trying to calm himself.

They were already here.

 

In a couple of wide strides, he caught up with Jinyoung. There was still a mix of a pleasant and curious expression in his hyung’s eyes.

Well, at least Jinyoung was in a pretty good mood at the moment, which would go a long way to help him in the moments of the final reveal. At least, that’s what he is hoping for.

Long fingers crossed.

 

He said a mental prayer in his head, bracing himself for an oddly placed feeling of impending doom that hammered away in his chest.

 

…if only _he_ knew.  

 

-

 

In the eyes of the average Joe, it might be strange to think why Jaebum seemed so exceptionally invested in this particular exhibition’s display. After all, he _was_ an arts student. And this wasn’t his first exhibition. And this wasn’t any special exhibition or anything like that. Far from it – Jaebum has had his works exhibited in way more fancy exhibition halls, school displays, competitions, events, and even in inter-country, national-level conventions – well _once_.

But still.

 

The bottom-line was, this wasn’t that special of an exhibition, really. And yet.

Jaebum has spent an unprecedented amount of effort and time on this particular submission, for this particular exhibition. Also, instead of sticking to his usual style of art, Jaebum had chosen to thread on new, unfamiliar waters, making a surprising and unexpected decision to venture into a new medium of art for this particular piece. _Watercolour_ painting. He utilized weeks, months even, to perfect his final work, and yet, he barely uttered a word to another person, keeping the piece – its contents and his progress on it top secret.

 

‘Don’t tell me you did a nude sketch! Ohhh _HHH~_ ’ came Y’s jabbing and jokey interjection, an attempt to trigger some sort of response from Jaebum who was currently carrying a stoic expression on his face.

Jaebum scoffed, lips still sealed.

 

_No_ , it wasn’t anything like that.

 

But in his head, this exhibition, and his submission being selected, was something special indeed.

 

He glanced around the gallery.

It was a grand mix of vibrant colours meeting dull and darker tones, of sculpted pieces meeting fabric art, a variety of paintings – all of which in different styles carrying different qualities.

 

All of them known to the naked eye, but remaining unseen in a certain way.

Yet his own paintings and art pieces – the whole long list of them – while they had all been on display… he wonders, with a cruel bitterness rising in his throat, if they were truly seen at all.

 

They were all labelled.

They were art works that carried his name.

 

[ _Im Jaebum_ ]

 

Like a blessing, like a curse, it followed him everywhere.

 

It felt like the label preceded the art.

 

And when art pieces carried his name, it made him forget.

It made him _doubt_.  

The people who commended his art and praised his work –

 

Were they really applauding the name, the person behind the work, or the art that was created…?

 

Jaebum could never tell, and it sickened him.

 

It was a sad and numbing realization.

It was a harsh slap to his face.

 

At first, he had believed. And maybe that’s why it had hurt with such an exceptional pang of pain.

After all, he was young and, well, not _that_ innocent, but more naïve than he’d like to admit. Jaebum had all these bold dreams that fired a deep orange into his eyes. A pair of determined hands, a vision of bright hopes, he stood there, out in the open. He had just begun to take his own footsteps, footsteps that stepped away from a certain dictated path planned out for him.

Jaebum was spreading his wings, reaching for all he could only dream of.

 

To see his name, those three words, embossed into glass displays. Bold, italicized, underlined. Printed out. Or simply handwritten. It didn’t matter.

He had smiled all the same, shining eyes. Of awe and delight.

 

Because it was _him_.

It was Jaebum leaving his mark on the world. 

 

And yet.

…he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to slip away from the all-controlling grip of the Im family.

 

It was the day when he had barely left the professor’s consultation room. Abruptly, he turned around. He had this burst of a new idea gushing to his mind, and so, with quick footsteps and a barely concealed excitement riding over his features, he walked back.

He was half-running, half-jogging, really.

 

The door was ajar.

Jaebum’s mouth open, about to spill into a shout, an excited exclamation.

 

But that back view made him hesitate.

There was someone else in the room.

 

His face fell.

 

 

The director.

 

Those words.

 

Jaebum remembers how the cold air sinking down in the corridor felt unbearably stagnant, and that the corpse of the idea he had in his mind rotted away.

 

Hushed, poisonous whispers.

 

‘…so this time, we’ll be leaving two spots for Im Jaebum.’

‘Isn’t that a bit much…? Last time, you only requested a spot!’

 

The fluorescent light shining down felt too bright, too uncomfortable for his liking.

 

‘Well-’ A breath of exasperation.

 

‘-I don’t have much of an option here either! I just got a call from their secretary, which is why I rushed to your office on such short notice…’

 

Repulse rising up like bile, burning disgust and shame into his very being.

 

‘Two spots! I don’t care how you do it…’

 

 

Everything else muted out.

 

 

Eventually, something within Jaebum dragged his feet away from the half-open door. He has heard enough, maybe a bit too much, or a bit too little. Either way, he got the message and the bloody memo that was hidden away from him.

Was he seen? Had he been noticed?

 

_What did it matter?_

 

Jaebum walked out that day, wings snapped and broken, dreams faded and vaporised.

He walked, and walked, heading to nowhere in particular.

 

The callous thoughts continued churning in his head: _how long_ had this been going on? When did it start? Had all of this been planned straight from the _start_? When he had boldly announced his firm decision to walk a different path…?

 

…and to think he had been so damned proud of himself.

 

…and to think he was going to make a name for himself.

…by _himself_.

 

Jaebum laughed.

It was laughable.

 

One footstep, and another.

 

_‘That’s a brilliant work of art, Im Jaebum-ssi!’_

 

 

One piece of memory tainted, and another.

 

_‘You’re gonna go far in the field of art, I can feel it._ ’

_“Talented, skilled strokes!”_

 

_“What a beautiful use of colours, simply amazing.”_

 

 

One jab of an insult, another stab of hope-inducing encouragement.

 

_LIES._

 

_All of them_.

 

But Jaebum was never a huge laugher.

And so, after forcing out the first couple breaths of swollen laughter, his lips froze, his voice died.

 

 

A fallen leaf landed beside his right foot.

It was still green, it must have been freshly fallen.

 

But it’s snapped at the roots, it was _dead_ – an unnaturally vibrant and dead object, it seems. Jaebum stared at it, like a dying object staring at a dead object.

 

The wind blew, but the leaf stayed there, unmoving.

And Jaebum stood there, too, unmoving.

 

 

From then on, he stopped believing.

If he had been young and innocent, well, he wasn’t anymore. Like an abrupt awakening from a sweet dream, like that lone fallen leaf.

 

_[Im Jaebum]_?

_Hah,_ was it ever about _him_ and his art to begin with?

 

No, it was never about him. It couldn’t be.

It was about that label, and the power of the name he so happened to carry. Suddenly, his very name, and all the art pieces he had created became a gash of a wound cut so invisibly deep that it feels like it could never heal.

Jaebum rolled his tongue, feeling it caressing the back of his front teeth inside his mouth. Maybe this was the ultimate price to pay when he adamantly insisted on majoring in art.

_If it wasn’t for the Im family name, would anyone bother giving his work a second glance?_

 

_Fuck_ , just that thought alone felt like too much to bear. Jaebum feels a pain twist open in his gut.

 

-

 

Jaebum found it.

 

His painting.

Hidden, yet exposed.

 

A watercolour painting titled _Beauty,_ by _Defsoul_.

Like an open question, like a last ditch attempt of validating himself and all his artistic efforts and endeavours.

_There’s beauty in everything, right?_

That was the description he had settled on.

 

Jaebum felt an unknown surge of pride, now that he was finally seeing the painting on display in front of him. Now that it was completely void of his name and the label of his family name. It almost feels like a true acknowledgement of some sort. That it was _his work_ being selected for what it was. Not because he was [ _Im Jaebum_ ]. Not because of some underhand backdoor dealings.

Which was why this exhibition with its masked element of anonymity was so especially important.

Jaebum smiles, just a little – it’s a small and tired but meaningful smile.

 

\--\\--

 

Day 337

 

The dark skies above him felt foreboding.

 

Suddenly, so many dark clouds.

Where do they even come from?

 

If Jinyoung’s life was a drama, he thinks that this would be the part it starts pouring in buckets of water. It would start slow, with tiny droplets. He could see it so clearly, how the raindrops would start to fall, one by one.

Drop by drop.

But life is nothing like that. So, there was no rain despite the dark clouds gathering together.

 

On the ground, short of a metre away, Jinyoung’s phone lights up. He hears the phone vibrate against the asphalt.

 

_Vrr, vrr, vrrrrh_.

 

It’s lying face down, so he doesn’t see the screen.

 

He expects it’s Yugyeom though.

If it’s Yugyeom, the screen would have flashed [ _Yugyeommie Calling…_ ].

 

Jinyoung almost never calls him that. But that’s the name he saves in his phone. It’s the name that he thinks in his head from time to time when the face of his particularly tall friend crosses his mind.

 

Many things he doesn’t need to say, and so he doesn’t say them.

Many things people didn’t really need to know, and so he doesn’t say them.

 

It’s a bad habit to have… probably.

But it’s also the only way he’s known, growing up the way that he did.

 

Jinyoung can’t help but think: _was that why things became the way they did?_

-

 

There aren’t many things you can do when you’re a kid like Jinyoung growing up.

And Jinyoung learnt that when he was young.

 

Jinyoung was a mature kid, almost adult-like.

In late night moments, when he had been a young kid waiting for his father’s return home, Jinyoung would bring out his own blanket from his room for his mother, without being asked, without a word being said.

Without caring that his own toes were chilly, and hands pale.

The floorboards are cold, he said simply.

 

His mother smiles, in a kind smile that closes off her eyes for a short moment.

Jinyoung notices her long eyelashes as they fall and rise.

 

She has pretty, long lashes.

 

She thanks him.

Fondly, she says _our Jinyoungie is all grown up now, huh? Like an adult trap in a kid’s body_ …

 

Jinyoung smiles.

In his heart, he is grateful.

 

 

But Jinyoung wasn’t dumb.

No, he was smart.

Even when he was young.

 

In his mind, he _knows_.

 

 

_His mother didn’t have such long lashes._

_His mother doesn’t call him ‘Jinyoungie_ ’.

 

She never did.

 

And maybe that’s precisely it –

He’s too damned smart for his own good.

 

Jinyoung smiles at the person he calls ‘mother’, knowing full well that this woman in front of him isn’t his mother. But she doesn’t know _he_ knows.

 

Because many things people didn’t really need to know.

And many things he doesn’t need to say so… Jinyoung doesn’t say them.

 

…it doesn’t mean, however, that he doesn’t know.

 

-

 

The story he was told from when he was young.

He was a kid.

 

And so he doesn’t remember.

And so they tell him the story, repeatedly. To remind him, to let him know.

 

_As if Jinyoung would ever forget it_.

 

The story was, Jinyoung was young. His father was overseas and away, for years now. His mother lost him in a busy street, when their hands snapped away from each other in a sea of people. She wailed out a moment too late, he disappeared away a moment too soon.

What was it, one day or two? Left alone in the streets.

 

How did he survive?

Jinyoung was a miracle of a wonder with a strong will to live.

That’s how.

 

Or, in the words of his mother, Jinyoung was special and their precious child.

That’s how.

 

At least, that’s the story he’s told.

 

-

 

When she finally finds him, she’s whispering _sorry_ and _I’m so, so sorry_ over and over again. Gentle, teary and sobbing words. The tears fall and keep falling as she holds Jinyoung close to her chest. She’s shaking so badly.

Her hair tickles his nose, and her hands are cold. Jinyoung can feel her heartbeat thumping erratically.

He hasn’t said a word.

He hasn’t really seen her face properly.

 

_Are you okay?!_

_Are you hurt?_

 

He’s looking over her shoulder from how she is holding him.

There’s a blank look fading deep into his darkened eyes, but she doesn’t see this.

 

Out of the corner of his sunken eyes, he sees approaching footsteps.

 

 

There’s a man, walking over.

Nearer and nearer.

 

Their eyes meet, and maybe, that’s when Jinyoung’s fate was sealed.

Then, the man looks away at the woman holding him, like their eyes never met.

 

_Honey! Honey, you found him? …is he okay_?

 

A voice he has never heard before. She lets go of her arm around Jinyoung, standing up to meet the man. But with her cold hands, she holds on to his own small hand. Jinyoung is small, but he can tell. This woman is frantic, this woman is also relived.

The man is not quite as frantic.

 

Not quite as relieved.

 

_I don’t know, he’s not speaking_ …

 

Her voice trails off, she is anxious.

 

Jinyoung glances up. Tired eyes inquiring.

Why does she…?

 

_Maybe he’s in some kind of shock…? What- how many days has he been out here, anyway?_

_Two days, I think. Oh god- do… do you think something might have happened to him?_

 

She squats down, facing him properly this time. Eye level. Cold hands on either sides of his small frame. Worry lined the corners of her eyes, but the resemblance was uncanny and unmistakable.

 

She was a splitting image of his mother.

 

It made him shiver a little, and he feels the hairs on his arms stand up.

 

His own tired eyes widened for a second.

And he blinked.

 

_Jinyoung-ah. Our Jinyoungie, can you recognise me? It’s… Eomma-ah, it’s your mother._

 

And he blinked.

No.

 

_And this,_ she pulls the man beside her into a half squatting position. There’s a whiff of uncertainty that flashed by his eyes, but then he smiles. _This is your father._

 

Jinyoung looked from the woman to the man, and back at the woman.

And he blinked.

 

And then the world felt fuzzy, the air felt thick and his limbs felt heavy. He stumbled on nothing and fell into a pit of darkness, blacking out. Everything whirling about, he vaguely remembers her cold hands reaching out for him, the look she had in her eyes.

And those very long, and pretty lashes.

The last unspoken string of thoughts connects in his head but he forcefully shoved it down his gut.

 

_This woman is_ not _my mother._

She was a splitting image of his mother, but she _wasn’t her_.

 

Many things people didn’t need to know, and so Jinyoung doesn’t tell them.

Jinyoung doesn’t say anything.

 

It occurs to him then, that this woman, from this moment forward, he has to call his mother.

And that man, his father.

 

The final conclusion he reached as he crumpled on the ground that day, was that all of this could only mean one thing –

 

_…his own mother was really dead now._

 

His head hits the ground, hard and sharp, but nothing quite compares to the wounded ache sinking in his heart. A pain splits up in his chest in that moment, and that’s the last thing he properly feels for the next few years of his life.

 

-

 

The truth he has known when he was young.

He was a kid.

 

But he _remembers_.

But they tell him the story, repeatedly. To remind him, _the truth need not be spoken_.

 

_But Jinyoung could never forget it_.

 

The truth was, Jinyoung was young. He has never had a father, for years now. He only has a single mother who brought him into the world, through gritted teeth and cursed words. And on that very day, had decided to take him out of it, _with her_. But then maybe it was her conscience gripping onto her unwilling to let go, or maybe it was the kinship they shared in blood ties – either way she decided against it, and in that slither of a moment, she decides to let him go instead.

 

She smiles, and it was perhaps that only time Jinyoung has ever seen his mother truly smile.

 

His mother lost him in a busy street, when she snapped her hands away from his, in a sea of people. That smile never left her face.

 

_NO!_

Jinyoung had yelled out hopelessly. His voice drowned out, unnoticed. Her footsteps too quickly gone, vanished.

 

_I’m going to kill myself_ , she had been saying.

It was something she had been saying all his life, it felt like.

It whirls around Jinyoung’s head all the time, like a broken recorder, like a ticking time bomb… like an inevitable fate waiting to happen. When she was quiet, those words sounded particularly loud in their stuffy, dimly-lit one bedroom apartment. They were enunciated with such simplicity and clarity, coated with silent malice, when she had been staring at herself in the mirror for hours on end.

_Park Jinyoung, I’m going to kill myself_.

 

When she was hysterical and screaming, nerves frayed and on edge. Her hair in a knotted mess, dry and chopped off. Her voice sounding hoarse and desperate, screeching maniacally. Sometimes her words were barely audible. Jinyoung watched her pale hands get scratched up with wounds as they swept everything off of the table, throwing random objects onto the ground and around the apartment. Violent, quick movements, angry. Here, a broken cup, there, a ripped book.

An animalistic yelp – _Park JIN YOUNG, I’m going to KILL MYSELFFF_

 

When she was sorry and a sorry mess of tears and snot, mumbling softly, a bunch of senseless, and often disconnected words. She’d tug Jinyoung into bed, smoothing over his sheets, one time, and again. Her sad sunken eyes looking straight into his. Distraught and worry lined her forehead, she looked downright miserable and beaten down.

_I- I…_ her thin fingers touching his chin trembled.

_Jinyoung…I’m going…I’m going to have to kill myself._

 

 

 

“Park Jinyoung.”

…was his father’s name.

 

Jinyoung only learnt that later on.

 

He shared the same name as his father.

Out of spite, he would guess.

The father he never saw. The father he never knew. Hell, he doesn’t even know if the man was alive or dead.

 

It explained a lot, though.

Like why his own mother would randomly smile at him with a deep tenderness laced in her eyes for one second, but snap into a fit of rage in the next. How she yells _Park Jinyoung_ with such hatred in her angry and frustrated threats of killing herself. Why she says strange things like _your eyes remind me of Jinyoung_ , and _you smile just like him, you know that?_

Things that didn’t quite make sense to the young kid that he was.

 

To a young kid like him, it only felt like his very own mother hated his existence, and couldn’t bear her life with him in it. And yet, he vaguely understands the twisted flipside underneath that hatred, and felt that somewhere inside her tattered and broken open heart, that she really did love him too, in her own, bitter kind of way.

That she was trying hard, for herself and for Jinyoung, but she has a gaping wound that is ripped open and horribly exposed, and she is hurting.

 

Along the way, Jinyoung forgets to remember that _he_ could hurt, too.

And that all this while, just as his mother was hurting, he was hurting, too.  

Maybe, maybe... Jinyoung never really learns this.

 

 

Jinyoung was a child born out of wedlock.

Sometimes, people called kids like him a lovechild, but Jinyoung would beg to differ. Perhaps, there had been no love, and he certainly hadn’t been a child for very long.

 

It had been brutal.

But Jinyoung grew up like that.

 

And that was only the beginning.

 

-

 

When he woke up, he was tubed up.

He was thin, he was malnourished.

But Jinyoung _survived._

 

The splitting image of his mother, was his mother’s identical twin.

The aunt he never met, and barely knew existed.

After all, they led an isolated life in the outskirts of the community.

 

But he guessed that much.

 

And she never took back her words.

She insists, _it’s your Eomma_. Jinyoung goes along with it.

 

The first time it rolls off his tongue, he feels strange, unnatural. But she smiles in that instant and her whole face lights up, and so Jinyoung thinks he doesn’t mind saying it.

He could get used to it.

He says it again and her eyes twinkle with such joy, it feels like magic.

 

The man, her husband.

He figured.

 

His family name was _Park_ , too.

There was something in his eyes that felt like a threat, even though he was outwardly smiling and did nothing but kind things, like talk to Jinyoung and pat him on the head and apologise, saying that he’s sorry he was always busy overseas.

 

They were lawfully wedded.

Childless, but they wanted a child.

 

They, became his parents.

Naturally.

 

He was no longer Park Jinyoung, and yet, he was.

Naturally.

 

They know he isn’t their child.

They don’t tell him this.

Because, how could they?

How do you tell a young kid that his mother was dead, when standing in front of him is a woman that looks _exactly_ like his dead mother, but is alive and well, and is his _new_ mother?

 

What they didn’t know was that Jinyoung knew this, too.

They never really needed to tell him anything.

 

He knew all of it.

 

He knew that… his own mother, was dead.

Probably, ran over by a truck.

It’s probably a lie, though.

 

Jinyoung can see the scene play out in his head so clearly. How she was the one who ran _into_ the truck, with a sick smile of death and the paleness of a ghost.  

 

-

 

_Jinyoung. Jinyoung, are you asleep?_

Jinyoung lies awake, staring at the empty ceiling and the way the moonlight poured through the window. He doesn’t say a word.

 

_If one day, I’m gone… and someone who looks just like me appears in front of you…_

Her voice cracks, sounding thorn, like she was suppressing a cry.

 

_Just call her Eomma, alright?_

_It’ll be easier if you call her Eomma._

 

There’s a faded serenity to the night, and the darkness. The whole time his mother talks, Jinyoung doesn’t see her face.

He only hear her whispering in the dark.

 

_I'm sorry._

_I'm so, so sorry._

 

 

\--/--

 

Day 3

 

Jinyoung’s phone screen flashed alive, and blackened out. The blue light blinking friendly. Almost immediately, he picks up the device and glides his thumb over the screen.

Eyes bright, scanning the message received.

He reads it once, and re-reads it again.

 

Jinyoung smiles and laughs a little when he notices the clever joke hidden between the lines. Then, his own fingers scurried away, off to configure an equally matched, punny response to the message he received.

…and _send_.

 

Jinyoung feels a tangy burst of satisfaction gliding across his chest when he clicks the button. It was a strangely new, but nice feeling to know someone who shares his peculiar taste in humour. It was one of the first things he noticed when the guy started sending him messages. 

 

What Jinyoung doesn’t notice, though, is a cheeky-looking _somebody_ scrutinizing his every movement. Yugyeom, as it happens, was camping out together with him in the school library as they usually do on their regular study sessions together. A half grin lights up on Yugyeom’s face – this was a refreshing and new side of Jinyoung that he has never quite seen before.

 

‘Sayyy, hyung~. _Who_ are you texting?’

‘Huh?’ Jinyoung offers a stupid shrug, and a false look of indifference. ‘Nobody, really.’

 

What Jinyoung doesn’t notice, though, was that the little smile riding up on his features never really left his face, and it betrayed the neutral-sounding ‘nobody’ that he spilled from his lips.

 

‘Oh realllyyyy~’ Yugyeom pursues the attack of taunting Jinyoung with a playful tone of disbelieving words.

‘Yes, really.’

Yugyeom leans towards Jinyoung’s end of the table, ever so grateful for his own long and lean body, and tries to sneak a peek at Jinyoung’s phone, curious about that conversation that made him laugh out loud so uncharacteristically. With hands swaying about, Jinyoung mocked an expression of petty annoyance along with cross eyebrows, and dusted him away, holding his phone even further away.

 

‘ _Tch,_ Yugyeom-ah, Go study your books.’

‘Eyyyy.~’

 

The day passes like that, blinking blue light, nervous excited fingers, and the soft turning of pages, with pen scribbling on paper. Softened eyes and expectant heart beating.

The occasional curious and teasing look from Yugyeom.

 

Jinyoung doesn’t get much work done that day, a first for him.

But at the same time, the day felt bright and light, and not getting much work done didn’t feel like that big of a deal – another first for him.

 

-

 

_So…what’s your name anyway?_

_Are you really not going to tell me?_

Jinyoung stares for a bit, fingers tapping against the screen. He smiles.

 

_It’s not a big deal, is it…Defsoul-ssi?_

 

Jinyoung hesitates, then he continues:

_I don’t know your name either._

 

_I’m Jaebum._

Came the brief reply.

 

His fingers naturally typed out _I’m Park Jinyoung_ , but then his thumb hovers over the send button, just short of pressing down. It hovers for a second too long. A prickling unease twitched his eyebrows, and his smiling eyes tensed up.

Jinyoung was never quite fond of saying that.

 

That _I’m Park Jinyoung._

 

It’s a simple sentence. It’s a self-introduction.

...it’s all twisted and _wrong_.

Because, in a way, it was him. And yet, it was who he never wanted to be. It was an irremovable mark of anguish. And yet, it was the very name he was bestowed with, and had to live with.

He moves to press down on the backspace button instead.

He backspaced until the line was empty and the cursor blinked at him.

 

A new message appears.

_What, do you have a very long name? ke ke_

 

Jinyoung’s eyes briefly scan through the conversation they shared above. And then he decides –

 

_Jinyoung_.

 

_That’s my name_.

 

Usually, this is the part where people would ask him for his full name. Especially because ‘Jinyoung’ was a rather common and unexceptional Korean name. Jinyoung once had project groupmate who had four ‘Jinyoung’s listed in his contacts and Jinyoung, himself, was the _second_ Park Jinyoung the guy knew.

He was labelled [Park Jinyoung (2) – Lab]

 

So as much as he didn’t like to carry his family name, or naturally introduce it as part of his name, Jinyoung figured that it was only a matter of time before he was asked. It was nothing personal, just a dumb fact of life. He only decided on a whim to try his luck with – wait, what’s his name again? Ah – Jaebum.

 

_Wait._

It was then, he realizes. Maybe it was a strange luck, or pure coincidence, but _that_ was what Jaebum did too. He had typed ‘ _I’m Jaebum_ ’.

 

Not his full name, either.

 

A new message appears.

_Nice name_.

 

Jinyoung couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

_As if!_

Those words naturally echoed aloud in his head. His name had never been special or “nice”. Jinyoung knew that much.

 

A new message appears.

_Well, it’s late but it’s nice to have met you that day, Jinyoung-ssi._

 

No further questions asked about his name.

He blinked.

 

Which was yet another first.

 

The thought lingers at the back of his head. Maybe this _Defsoul_ – this _Jaebum_ guy – wasn’t so bad after all.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /I got sad writing this;  
> it's probably the last extensive block of backstory. 
> 
> the meeting is next, do look forward to it! 
> 
> thank you for taking the time to read the story.


	6. hello

‘It’s a cat.’

 

The quiet words rang out loudly in his ears. The hairs on the back of Jaebum’s neck pricked up all at once, jolting in attention. He turns around almost immediately, eyes widened sharp and on alert, looking to locate the owner of the voice, the person who said those words.

His heart instantly jumped into a wild _thump_ ing, already far ahead of his mind. An inexplicable feeling overcomes him and before Jaebum is even sure that that was where the voice had come from, he was already walking towards a painting he knows too well, a painting that was a mere turn of a corner away.

_It couldn’t be… right?_

 

He hurried back to a certain painting display in lightning speed, as if possessed by an invisible force of some sort. In his head, an odd collection of images and imaginings spun open, and Jaebum felt a strange jumble of mixed feelings – caught between a rush of hope and a jab of nerves, alongside an unknown hunch of muted joy.

 

Jaebum’s footsteps came to a soft stop.

 

Having turned the corner, he was only a few metres away from the painting on display:

A painting titled _Beauty_ , a blatant juxtaposition to the watercolour work that was a mess of out-of-proportion objects strewn together, painted in with an unusual selection of colours.

 

At first glance, it was quite about the last thing you’d consider to be beautiful or a beauty.

 

But it was a painting Jaebum knew by heart.

It was _his_ painting.

 

As Jaebum looked out from the corner leading to where his painting was being exhibited, he saw two guys standing in front of the painting, engaged in somewhat of a friendly, playful banter, it seemed like. The shorter one was standing with most of his back facing Jaebum.

 

If his intuitions were right, the voice probably came from one of them.

At least, that’s what he’s hoping.

 

‘What are you talking about, hyung?’ the taller guy said, in a jokey tone. He wildly gestures at the painting and offered a couple of stupid giggles.

‘I mean look at _this_! This guy probably did the painting when he was _high_ or something.’

 

Jaebum pursed his lips ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed.

 _Well_ , the voice couldn’t have come from _him_ then, Jaebum concluded in his mind.

 

Upon hearing his comment, the shorter guy turns his head to glance at his tall friend – a lanky, long-limbed, long bangs guy who was presently wearing a shit-eating grin. Then, out of a sudden, the shorter guy jerks his hand up, open palmed, as if about to slap his friend on the back, only to stop himself just before his palm strikes the other man.

The taller guy had flinched and leapt backwards in two quick steps, but was still all smiles and grinning brightly.

 

The two were obviously close friends.

 

Then, the shorter one stops and looks back at the painting, hands having retracted to his sides.

 

‘It’s the vision of a cat.’

 

It was _that_ voice. The familiar tone of voice was unmistakable, and resonated with the string of words Jaebum heard mere moments ago.

 

 

 _-Thump_.

A hard-hitting quiver of his own heartbeat.

 

And the way those words were said – without a sliver of doubt, without any kind of conviction, not as an argument or a personal stance. The stranger had said it as though it was the most natural, matter-of-fact thing in the world.

 

A strange chill tingled alive inside Jaebum.

 

‘No way! How would you even know?’ the tall, grinning friend chirped in.

It was the same question burning in his own mind.

 

_…how?_

 

His fingers trembled, for a fraction of a second.

 

Eyes, unblinking.

What was this feeling?

 

Something cold erupted on the sides of his neck.

 

Still looking at the painting, with most of his back facing Jaebum, the man said simply.

 

‘I just do.’

 

There was something magnetic about the way he said it.

Those words.

 

That moment felt muted. Jaebum stares on, because he doesn’t realise that he’s staring.

 

Because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Or what else he can do.

 

It’s the strangest feeling in the world, and he feels all jumpy on the inside, yet he found himself unable to quite move or look away. He’s startled, motionless. He’s dumbfounded, slightly breathless. Jaebum vaguely senses a pricking cold plunge into his stomach, as his ears grow warm.

 

Warmer and warmer.

 

 

‘…something like- it feels like the artist is longing for company…? Like…’

 

 

A shiver.

And a shivering warmth.

 

 

‘...he wants to be understood…’

 

 

Because it almost feels like Jaebum was standing there _naked_.

And seen.

 

 

By someone else.

Someone he doesn’t even know.

Someone he hasn’t even _seen_.

 

 

‘…he wants to…’

 

For the first time in his life.

Jaebum was seen, properly.

 

Without a mask of an identity, without a hint of judgement.

 

 

‘…be seen.’

 

Bare, open.

 

 

‘…properly.’  

 

By this faceless stranger of a person.

 

 

_Thump._

 

 

‘…that kind of feeling.’

 

Without realising, his lips had parted, leaving his mouth half open.

His palms had loosened up.  

A state of uncertainty, an uncertain and wavering, but… a blissful feeling, nonetheless.

 

 

‘-because it says right here: [ _there’s beauty in everything, right_?]’

 

A single person actually saw _right through him_ , without having once looked his way.

Without realising, Jaebum was holding a nervous breath, like he was scared to breathe. As if all of this in front of him would disappear, if he would so much as let out a single breath of cold air. Without knowing why, there was a shaking uneasiness rattling in his bones, like something was happening to him… like something was happening inside him.

 

‘-it’s like a question looking for a hopeful answer. That someone can see things the way he does.’

 

Something clicks in his heart then, even though Jaebum probably doesn’t quite notice this, until much, much later. Because, in that moment all he sees is that back view of the stranger, standing in front of his painting. Whose words were tender but had hit his heart head-on in the centre, leaving him defenceless and exposed.

Because, in that moment Jaebum doesn’t see the look he has in his own eyes, or the way he is staring at this man he doesn’t know. He doesn’t notice the smile in his heart, or how his heart is quaking with this overwhelming and warm sensation.

Because, in that moment Jaebum is feeling all these new colours of foreign shades and he has a lightness rising up from his chest, but they don’t quite register in his mind.

 

Jaebum only thinks, that he has to talk to this guy.

Jaebum only thinks, that he wants to know this guy.

 

And that whoever this person was, he would be an important part of his own life.

 

-

 

‘Eyyyy~ Hyungggg.’

Yugyeom threw back a mocking sneer and words of disbelief upon hearing Jinyoung’s words.

 

Even though Jinyoung had always been the smart hyung he relied on for last-minute revision, and a great study partner to have, Yugyeom had his doubts about this specific artistic interpretation his hyung had formulated. After all, they weren’t pros in the field of art – they were far from it. And he doesn’t quite believe that Jinyoung could be _that_ spot-on about understanding the art piece they were looking at, especially not when it was such a… such a-… _hm_. What’s the word? Um…

 

Ah – _peculiar_!

 

That’s right.

“ _Peculiar_ ”

 

Especially not when the piece was such a _peculiarly_ _peculiar_ crafted work.

 

…that’s the best word Yugyeom could come up with that did not sound outrightly rude or offensive. He looks over at the displayed work again, and the slightest of a frown turns the corners of his lips downwards.

 

_Bleh._

No matter what Jinyoung had said, and how poetic his understanding was, Yugyeom just didn’t like it. The painting, that is.

 

He didn’t like it one bit.

He didn’t like anything about it.

 

Nope.

 

Yugyeom didn’t like how it looked like a horrible, muddled mess; didn’t like that it looked like an unplanned, unorganized work, haphazardly pieced together; didn’t like how it looked so disorderly and uselessly chaotic; didn’t like the odd and strange colour palette chosen by the artist.

 

He didn’t like how it was so obnoxiously self-titled [ _Beauty_ ] when it was a far cry from actual beautiful pieces like, er – _ahem_ , like for example, _his_ submission.

The self-promotion that naturally eased into his head full of unpleasant thoughts softened the hint of a frown he had on his face, lightening his mood. He smiled a little despite himself.

 

Briefly, Yugyeom eyed the description plate.

A twitch of mischief lifted his right eyebrow.

 

_Heh._

 

And the guy had used such a weird and senseless name as a pseudonym, called what… _Defsoul_? What does that even mean?

P _fft_!

 

The words instantly poured out of his mouth, ‘-and anyway, what kind of name is Defsoul?’ He points a finger towards the description plate, directing Jinyoung’s line of sight to the funny-sounding name. ‘It sounds like a hillbilly wannabe hipster. Or like, someone who can't spell right.’

A snicker of a laugh followed after his string of words, or well, half-insults. 

 

Jinyoung lets out a humoured breath in a small, slightly amused smile, but doesn’t say anything else.

 

‘Let’s go,’ Jinyoung finally says, after a couple of long lingering looks at the painting.

It felt like he was rather fond of it, somehow, for some strange reason. Yugyeom had noticed just how his hyung’s eyes had rounded off softly when he was looking at the painting.

 

Like… there was this look of vague kindness in his eyes.

And a strangely founded gentleness had settled deep into his dark irises.

 

_Hm._

_Well, I guess miracles do happen after all_ , Yugyeom snitches with dark scorn on the inside of his mind.

 

He nods back anyway, and they started to slowly walk on to view the next exhibited piece. 

 

-but… that was not before Yugyeom sneakily (and well, childishly) stuck out a quick flick of his tongue at [ _Beauty_ ] behind Jinyoung’s back, completing the whole look with raised eyebrows and a semi-disgusted, mocking expression. Hands, open palmed waving beside his cheeks, gesturing his personal displeasure.

 

 _Bleh_!

 

Half of Yugyeom was just as surprised (and embarrassed!) that he actually went along with the immature inclination that had been buzzing in his head for the past few minutes. To think that he actually succumbed to his childish tendencies, and entertained the thought of sticking a tongue out at an inanimate non-living thing in a public exhibition…! Where he was under the scrutiny of the public eye!

 

_… really, Kim Yugyeom?!_

He fought a weak urge to facepalm himself.

 

And _yet_ …

 

At the same time, the _other_ half of Yugyeom was giving himself a running high-five along with a _damn_ standing ovation, throwing strips of confetti all around in his head, colours flying wild, shining.

Because, it took _balls_ of steel to do what he did, and guess what?

 

He, yes him, – Kim Yugyeom – _just did that_.

Whoop-Wh _ooooo_ p!

 

No _shit_ , Yugyeom was a man beyond measure; _the_ man among men.

 

But, self-congratulations and pity-party aside – truth be told… Yugyeom wasn’t quite sure why he actually did that. It almost felt like his actions took ahold of him before his mind was in the clear, and then… it was too late to do anything else.

It was almost like a gut reaction, an instinctive feeling of some sort.

 

Maybe, he just didn’t like how Jinyoung seemed to be particularly fond of that specific painting when it hadn’t been all _that_ great in the first place. Maybe, he just didn’t like the bad vibe he got from the name [ _Defsoul_ ], and whatever it was supposed to mean.

Maybe, maybe…

 

 _Bah_ , who knows?

He shook those thoughts out of his head. They were useless to think about.

 

The bottom-line: _booooo_ this painting, Yugyeom didn’t like it.

Thumbs down!

 

-

 

Yugyeom had swiftly retracted his wild gestures when he was done executing them, smoothly moving in line with where they were headed, careful to not be caught. There was this magnificent rush of excited satisfaction rising in his chest after the quick and playful gesture, and an impish smile appeared on his face, just shy of bursting into a helplessly wide grin.

Slightly in front of him, Jinyoung walked on, footsteps slow, without a backwards glance, without knowing what he just did, which made Yugyeom _that_ much more satisfied with himself. Like he was some kind of master genius of criminal evil, able to successfully get away scot-free from the ever oblivious and unsuspecting detective Park Jinyoung.

 

_Heh~_

It was all quite amusing, really. And he felt most pleased with himself.

 

Until he realised.

 

Jinyoung had stopped walking.

And he had nearly walked _into_ a halted Jinyoung.

 

‘Why-’ the question naturally falls out of his mouth, but freezes before another syllable could be uttered.

 

Because Yugyeom realised.

_Why_ Jinyoung stopped walking.

 

 

…they had reached the next painting.

 

And Jinyoung saw Yugyeom’s submission.

 

In that split second, Yugyeom froze up, the last thought flashing through his mind was: _fuck_ _instant karma_.

 

\--/--

 

Day 99

They’re singing, and Jinyoung feels a burst of happiness he doesn’t quite understand, or remember. It’s a feeling of a certain freedom, and he feels a certain silky warmth gliding across his chest from within himself.

 

The lights are dim, but not completely dark.

Jinyoung is laughing, back bending over, only to rise up again.

 

The screen flashes an odd mix of colours on their faces.

He looks at Jaebum, from the corner of his eye, and then back at the screen.

 

All he hears is the sound of their voices, mingling together with an addictive melody. And then, Jinyoung is singing, he’s pouring his heart out. He’s belting out notes, he’s having a whale of a darn good time. He doesn’t quite know what to think; he doesn’t even know if proper thoughts are entering his head. All Jinyoung knows is that, he doesn’t want this moment to end; he doesn’t want this day to pass …he doesn’t want the night to be over.

 

_I have a dream today_

_Free to fly in the sky_

 

And in that moment when he hears the singer belts out those lyrics and those words, each and every one of them, down to the damned syllable – everything felt relatable, as though it were a song written for him.

His pent-up stress long forgotten, released. The hard edges from all that strain – melted away, smoothened out. The words he sings naturally flows out of his mouth.

 

_When you reach out, you can reach it as high as you can._

_Even if I’m afraid of wings_

 

There’s a hopeful lightness patting down on him, brightening the world around him.

And Jinyoung feels everything all at once – yellow tingles of happiness, the blue hues of mellow sadness, the fiery red passion streaks in their high notes. Jinyoung was singing, and if the world ended on a day like this, he thinks he would be happy. Or that he wouldn’t mind if the world did end.

 

He looks at Jaebum directly, because.

 

 _For the sake of my dreams, I just look at one place_.

 

…he never knew what it would be like to have someone like Jaebum in his life.

Jinyoung never knew that he could feel such warmth on a chilly day like this, when he was feeling exceptionally cold and unmotivated, from something simple like a five-second in-the-moment-decision to go for a karaoke session.

 

With Im Jaebum –  

Jinyoung learnt so much.

 

Before meeting Jaebum, Jinyoung never knew about that euphoric jolt of silver flashing excitement that he could feel when he hit them high notes singing – or _missed them completely_.

 

How laughter could be so feverishly contagious in the dark but colourful room, when they both spontaneously burst out laughing; when one of them did a dead on mocking impression of the classic ol’ classics – and what about that half-air half-sound bullshit? Nah, more like half-sound, _no_ air because they were gasping for air and laughing until their sides hurt so badly; when one of them did a ridiculously feminine sounding voice because they were singing a duet, and _well_ , somebody had to do it, and they took their turns with the high-pitched singing and crazy laughing; when the score of the machine rang up to 99 because their off-key hilarious joke of a performance was simply too _damned fucking flawless_.

 

A laugh broke out freely, loud and pleasant-sounding.

 

And then, another.

And, another.

 

Littered through the room, knocking hard in his chest, echoing everywhere.

 

A song plays, and then another.

Happy songs, sad ones, duets and old songs.

 

Jinyoung never knew a darkness so energetic and fun.

He pauses for a bit, took a gulp of cold water, because _someone help him_ , his throat was feeling giddy and hot from all that singing and semi-shouting that he hasn’t experienced in years. Or really, ever. At least, the fresh excitement of a moment like this strikes Jinyoung as being new and one of a kind.

 

He turns and look at a singing, and wildly thrashing about Jaebum – it was now his turn to sing solo.

Jaebum caught his eye just then, and just like the classic lead singer of a rock band, he points a straight finger at Jinyoung from across the room, and throws out a low and charming _and this one’s for you_ in the lines leading up to the chorus. The slightest tip of Jaebum’s tongue peeks out from the corners of his lip when he says that.

And Jinyoung could swear that he saw a wink of some sort twinkle in the darkness.

 

He laughs anyway; Jinyoung is tickled, amused and so happy. Even though he couldn’t quite tell you if he was laughing because of the expression riding over Jaebum’s features, the cheesy words he exclaimed so boldly, his wildly raised eyebrows, or the clichéd old school, finger-pointing gesture.

 

Or… maybe, it was Jaebum.

Because it was Jaebum being silly, because it was one of Jaebum’s many charms. Because it had been Jaebum.

 

Jinyoung beams brightly, feeling the happy hurt rising up on his cheeks.

 

…and maybe, Jinyoung thinks, the crux of it all lies in this messy-haired, head-banging, stupidly-thrashing-about friend that was currently getting too invested in some good ol’ rock and roll. Because Jinyoung knows, and he knows it well: it was never really about the time spent singing, shouting, or doing whatever. It was about _who_ you spent that time with that made all the difference.

 

Jaebum’s dark red streaks of hair flail open, majestic-looking. His eyes were closed shut, voice going on high and loud. There’s a fervent determination erupting in Jaebum’s voice, and he could feel the sheer intensity of the burning passion being emitted in the dark room through his powerful singing.

 

Jinyoung’s breath hitches. He feels a surge of something pulling in his chest as he watches on, captivated. It was quite the sight to take in, a sight he couldn’t quite look away from.

 

…and these days, most things revolved about Im Jaebum. 

 

\--/--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the meeting part one, i can't quite get the words out for the entirety of it (sorry), so it's split into two.  
> thank you for reading, really, thank you.
> 
> /side notes for the chapter -  
> 1 more will be touched on this in the meeting part two, but if you're interested, you can search up on how cats' vision differs from our own, so actually jaebum's painting is based off of that + bc jaebum and cats, amiright  
> 2 the lyrics used for #99 are english translations for icarus from jjp! it's one of the many variations for the song lyrics as translated.  
> 3 also: 'the half-air half-sound', for those unfamiliar, is the typical jyp signature sound haha, this was just a semi-spin on it.


	7. repeat

**\--/--**

 

Day 336

 

The words burned as they left his mouth, casting a pale, unnatural silence into the room.

 

…the room they had once called a home.

 

The glass he was tightly holding onto exploded in a myriad of fragmented pieces, slicing into his fingers, tainting them with red lines and dark liquid. But Jinyoung’s mind registered no such pain. He only felt a crass and uncomfortable dryness stinging in his throat, and vaguely sensed some kind of sticky moisture touching his fingers.

 

And he heard his own words, and the way they sounded out. 

 

And then, nothing.

 

The water in the glass he was holding fell onto the floor in a quiet splash, in contrast to the sharp clinking of broken glass.

 

A loud, unbearable silence thumped in his ears.

 

_Thump._

_Thump._

 

 

And that’s all Jinyoung heard, for the longest span of silence – the drumming of his heartbeat against his chest.

 

_Thump._

It felt all at once too loud, unbearable.

 

Yet at the same time, because those were the very words that had been too long overdue, Jinyoung felt this twitching and aching sense of icy relief shaking wildly in his heart. Those words that were almost carved into his bones had poured out of his mouth. Those words he had never expected to ever say aloud, were spoken.

His heavy words were finally out there, out in the open.

 

An expired burden finally fell off his tired shoulders as his palms turned numb, white and cold. Without realising, his right hand trembles a little reflexively. But Jinyoung gripped his fingers into a tight ball, willing himself to continue.

 

And so the words came, one after another.

Even though they were shaky, even though he felt nervy and uneasy… even though his lower lip trembled between uneven breaths.

 

Unplanned, but unstoppable, somehow.

 

Jinyoung never really did have very many things to say.

 

_Because many things he doesn’t need to say._

 

And yet.

And yet.

 

This time, he couldn’t stop.

An inexplicable sense of anguish was churning within him. All those times, all those feelings, they ruptured open violently and swirled repulsively in his mind, fighting to be released.

 

And… _although many things people didn’t need to know_ , this was it.

This time, Jinyoung wanted things to be known.

 

This time, the words couldn’t stop.

This time, Jinyoung said everything. 

 

And it felt like he spoke for a really long time.

 

From the belted anger, to the silent sadness, to the remaining state of emptiness…

 

…Jinyoung spoke until his own voice felt foreign to his ears – like it didn’t belong to him. He spoke until he almost couldn’t recognise the sound of his own voice. It was as if the words came from someone else, some third party bystander, who was reciting the words from his head, pulling out the words that he had kept in his head for so long.

 

A deep, shaky breath.

 

The room fell silent again.

 

A soft, shaky word –

_“Hyung…”_

 

Jinyoung looks straight at Im Jaebum, with trembling tears welling up in his eyes. It makes Jaebum’s face blur out and Jinyoung essentially sees nothing – a subtle fact that he was grateful for. Perhaps if he had seen those familiar eyes, and that look that Jaebum does so well… he might not have had the will power to continue.

He might have chosen to retract his words.

 

He might have never said those words.

 

…Jinyoung might have stayed.

 

But because of the unshed tears he refused to show, his eyes welled up and he never quite saw Jaebum’s face that day. He never saw his expressions, his eyes, his gaze. He would never know what they were like.

And maybe that was precisely the point.

 

…what kind of expression did he have? What was the look he carried in his eyes? What did his own words – words he had kept buried for so long – mean to Jaebum?

 

…what…what did it matter anyway?

 

…would knowing these things change anything… anymore?

 

 

_“I can’t do this anymore…”_

 

 

His words ended as a gasp of a whisper, with quivering lips.

Jinyoung swallowed, his throat was dry.

 

His chin dipped, and he held his gaze low.

For a few still seconds, nothing.

 

And then, Jinyoung looked back up again.

 

And, he smiled.

 

A sad, broken smile, through teary eyes and shaky, unfallen tears.

 

The nervous beating of his heart settles and calms, and Jinyoung feels an eerie, surreal sense of calmness embracing him. Chills erupted on his arms and down his back, but he smiles on anyway, a smile that was inexplicably painful to see.

 

Jinyoung smiles, he smiles at the man standing before him.

He smiles because of all the memories.

He smiles because of the way Jaebum smiles; when the corners of his lips lift, and you can hear the merry, hearty sound of his laughter. That exaggerated widening of his mouth. The tongue he sticks out when he’s made a mistake. The way he walks, when he’s in a hurry, when he’s in a furry, when he’s half-asleep and zombie-like. The sound of his steps, when he takes two steps at a time, up the stairs. And nearly loses his balance and breaks an ankle, or both. The way he reads, and flip the pages. When his eyes trail the page, focus and unblinking, tracking every word, searching for his own meaning. When he is silent and thinking, when he is contemplative and speaking. The way he holds out his fingers. The way he talks. His eyes, his beautiful, beautiful eyes.

…and when Jaebum tries to do dumb accents and fails miserably. When he speaks English, or tries to. When he would raise his eyebrows to make a meme out of himself. When he sings, seriously or not. He does high notes effortlessly; he makes an uncanny musical impression, mocking or sincere. The way he looks out for cats, and almost baby talks with them and it’s so stupidly cute. When his cool and chic self evolves into a goofy dork in a matter of moments. When he’s being a clumsy dumbass, tripping on air. When he stumbles on his words because his mouth works faster than his head, but he tries again and again and it’s so endearing and… it’s somehow… now, painful to think about.

 

So, so painful to think about.

 

_Ah.._

 

…because Jinyoung would probably not be there to hear something like that again.

 

His throat quivers, and he feels a hotness rising up his face.

 

 

But Jinyoung smiles.

 

He smiles, because… everything was over.

He smiles, because well.

 

They _both_ knew everything was over.

 

-

 

One way or another, Jinyoung left.

He left without a glance backwards, because he _knew_. If he would have looked back for a moment longer, he would have stayed. That was just the kind of person he was when he was dealing with Im Jaebum.

So, he left, swimming against the crashing tide and fighting the urge to look back.

 

A loud and sudden _wham!_ shook up his nerves, but still, Jinyoung bit down on his lower lip and continued walking away. It was probably Jaebum throwing a punch against the wall, or, well, through it.

Jinyoung willed his legs to move forward. In steady steps, he walked. Or tried to. When one feet would land, he kicked up the next. He was on autopilot, his motions robotic and mechanical.

 

One step and another.

 

And then, another.

It was the only way.

 

 

“Fine then, _LEAVE!_ ”

 

A final, ragged shout echoed behind him as he was near the level’s lift. He flinched on instinct, but there was nothing else he felt.

 

He reached out to press the down button, with his line of sight lowered, fingers numb and heart dead.

 

 

\--/--

 

 

There was something about that painting that captured Jinyoung’s attention.

 

[ _Beauty_ ]

The painting was composed with less saturated colour hues, painted in with smooth strokes, depicting an atypical and considerably strange angle of a room. The furniture drawn in by the artist were somewhat distorted, proportions disfigured.

Jinyoung imagines that most people would naturally consider the painting _strange_ when they first see it, and take in the whole of the painting.

 

[ _Beauty_ ] wasn’t beautiful.

At least, not at first glance, and certainly not in a conventional way.

It wasn’t an art piece that would made you swoon in admiration or go weak in the knees when you first lay your eyes on it. Even so, Jinyoung found it to be uniquely captivating, somehow.

 

Because ‘strangeness’ was always juxtaposed to normalcy, and the conception of what was normal.

 

But how, or why, would something be _strange_ , if you hadn’t had a predisposed expectation and anticipation for something _normal_ in the first place?

The angle wasn’t strange, the colours used weren’t odd.

Not at all.

 

In Jinyoung’s mind, they were simply different, is all.

 

Because, ‘ _It’s a cat_ ,’ he hears himself saying out of nowhere, eyes still transfixed on the art work and its little intricacies. The words echoes by his own ears, as if they came from a foreign, faraway source, and not from his own mouth. It almost felt like he was sucked into some kind of a trance, unable to really retract his gaze away from the painting. In his eyes, Jinyoung could see the painting swirl about, aligning with the painted brushstrokes; he could see the painting coming to life before him, like a spark of magic.

…like the beauty the art piece had proclaimed to be.

 

-that was… until Yugyeom broke the moment by making an unsightly comment about the painting and the artist. Jinyoung sighs aloud in his head, and shut his eyes for a short moment, lines appearing on the top of his nose bridge.

This was the typical Kim Yugyeom revealing his nature, extending his sharpened claws in his natural habitat – displaying his well-honed attribute of ‘ _dissing_ ’. As much as Yugyeom’s comment hadn’t been particularly welcomed by Jinyoung, it was not completely unexpected.

 

That’s just Kim Yugyeom for you.

 

But alas, the moment was already ruined and shredded, having long lost the full quality of its previous magic.

Jinyoung looks at a laughing Yugyeom from the corner of his eye, slightly annoyed, to say the least. Then, out of the blue, with a curse suppressed in his throat, Jinyoung pulls up an open hand, swift movements looking as if he was about to strike a hard slap down on his friend’s back. But, because it was never really in his intention to _actually_ hit his friend (he hadn’t been _that_ angry…well, not yet anyway), he stopped himself before landing the final blow, pleased that Yugyeom had jumped – both literally and figuratively, and had a blur of fear running past his eyes in that moment, before he broke into a carefree laughter and they both shared an open smile.

 

His stupid friend deserved that much.

 

Having dealt out his mini revenge, Jinyoung turns back to the painting and continues on his interpretation where he left it. He entertains the random questions and comments Yugyeom throws his way, while continuing his trail of thoughts, but his line of sight never quite leaves the painting.

He couldn’t help it, he was simply drawn into it.

 

In a blur of the present moment and things happening, Jinyoung hears his own voice sounding out loud in the gallery. There’s an inexplicable, but unmistakable edge of assertiveness in his words, and Jinyoung couldn’t quite fathom _why_ , or where this confidence was coming from.

 

Yugyeom had asked, _How would you even know that_?

It was a legitimate question, well valid and a proper one to ask, if you ignore the challenging and teasing tone of voice he had used.

In fact, that had been the _exact_ same question Jinyoung had spat to Yugyeom’s face when they were viewing an exhibited piece about ten minutes ago, when Yugyeom was getting all high and mighty, and, well, a little _too_ ahead of himself as he dramatized an explanation he had interpreted for an art piece they were viewing.

Someone had to stop the kid before he got out of hand, and Jinyoung was the perfect – and well, the _only_ – man for the job.

 

‘How would _you_ even know that?!’

 

His string of six words fatally shut down the sparkle of joy in Yugyeom’s eyes. It was an instant kill, making his friend stop midsentence with a slightly shocked look, mouth half-opened and uncertain. _Hm_ , actually, maybe it was an _over_ kill. Because Yugyeom had continued sulking and retorted a bunch of grumpy-sounding mumbling words as they walked along other art pieces, things like how Jinyoung was ‘no fun’ and ‘a frozen wet blanket.’

But welllll, it did succeed in putting an end to the ridiculous conspiracy-like, and quickly-spiralling-out-of-control spider web of a theory that Yugyeom had derived from… a simple painting of a _garden_ , so… that counts for something, right?

 

Mentally, Jinyoung had facepalmed himself about twenty times as he heard the bullshit pouring from Yugyeom’s splatter of messy, nonsensical words. It was only through gritted teeth and the resilience of a damn _saint_ that Jinyoung bit down on the urge to bark out a shout, a scream, or the ever-tempting instinct to leave.

…but there was only so much nonsense that _saint_ (and well, _sane_ ) Jinyoung could take in a single seating, and that last link to _aliens_ – because of a pattern of the tiniest leaf in the bottom corner of the painting that was _barely_ _visible_ – was the last straw.

Jinyoung _had_ to say those fatal words, or he may well have lost his damn _sanity_ right then and there.

 

So, in the logical part of his head, Jinyoung well knew that Yugyeom was only trying to use his own words against him, from the ugly showdown that happened earlier. Which was, _well_ , fair play. He would grant his friend that much.

 

Furthermore, in the field of the arts, normally, Jinyoung takes a neutral stance, a position of indifference. He doesn’t carry a forceful certainty in his words, because they were works that were more interpretative than definitive. It was a simple principle he came to abide by. It felt right enough, and well, Jinyoung was a reasonable guy.

 

…and yet.

It was strange.

 

Because… Jinyoung didn’t quite want to give in this time.

For some reason.

 

_How would you even know that?_

Yugyeom had asked.

 

_But really… how could he?_

There’s no way he could.

It was the flat truth underlying everything in the gallery.

 

Jinyoung was only a stranger, a bystander, an insignificant member of the invisible audience. All he was, and all he could ever be, was a part of the sea of faceless people who would see and forget, who could only observe and appreciate.

Jinyoung doesn’t know the person behind the painting, why he painted what he did, or why he painted it in a particular way. Those words weren’t his to say.

 

He was a nobody in relation to [ _Beauty_ ].

That was all there is to it.

 

Simple, open and shut.

There’s no way he could know that.

 

 

…and _yet_.

 

It feels right, somehow.

For some reason.

 

And there’s a blue flame of defiance burning in Jinyoung’s throat, insisting that his words – as much as they were groundless and formulated from his own thoughts – were _right_.

 

And Jinyoung just _knew_ he was right, with a scalding certainty that fired up in his chest.

 

And so _I just do_ , were the short words he says.

 

-

 

As Jinyoung was pouring out his explanation, he felt a vague unease creeping up his right shoulder. It was that somewhat eerie chill you would get when you felt another pair of eyes lingering on you, for a span of a short moment that was longer than the average accidental gaze or casual stare.

And this particular feeling…? It felt exceptionally long, and exceptionally unsettling. The guy, or girl, didn’t look away.

No, this person was staring, _hard._

 

Even as his long string of words came to a close, Jinyoung still felt that uncomfortable feeling like it was _imprinted_ onto his back. It was almost like the person wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that they was staring at Jinyoung anymore. _What kind of creep…?_

In between his appreciation for the art piece, and the growing unease that was dripping into his heart, he offered a silent prayer that he fears were mistaken and unfounded. Maybe this stranger simply happened to be staring in his direction, but not at _him_ particularly. Maybe, he thought too much of it.

… _maybe?_

 

His rationalization remained unconvincing and thoughts were starting to cloud in his head. Jinyoung distinctively felt the lingering gaze on him intensify, and so, before his paranoia got worse, he offered to continue walking through the gallery, even though he’d really rather spend more time with [ _Beauty_ ].

As normally-paced as he could, he naturally moved along to the next painting in line, hoping to be rid of that person’s line of sight.

 

But he had no such luck.

Nope.

 

Whosever eyes they were, they followed Jinyoung as he walked on ahead, and he felt the discomfort buzzing at the nape of his neck. They were distinctively uncomfortable, blatantly staring, and much more intensely than before. 

To say that Jinyoung was uncomfortable, was an understatement, really.

Heck, it was half the reason why he decided to step away from [ _Beauty_ ] earlier than he would have, even though he had a particular fondness for the piece.

 

 

Jinyoung was right about to turn around and confront his newly acquainted _stalker_ of some sort when the corner of his eyes picks up a familiar colour palette.

He turns ever so slightly to the next painting on his left.

 

…and feels his heart plummet into his gut.

 

His eyes widen, flashing a series of blinks in utter disbelief.

_What?_

 

This… couldn’t be real.

 

_…Right?_

 

Oh, it would have been great, if only he could disappear in that very moment.

 

But of course he doesn’t.

He’s still standing there, feeling dumb and dumbstruck. 

 

Jinyoung doesn’t swear on a regular basis. But –

‘ _What the fuck._ ’

– were the harshly whispered words that left his mouth in that shiver of a moment.

 

And then, rage.

 

The next thought that follows his thoughts of death were ones shaded with a murderous intent. His head makes a sharp ninety-degrees turn to the rat of a person standing beside him, eyes glaring.

Piercing with fiery wrath.

 

_‘KIM YU GYEOM’_

 

His mind was screaming – a blood hurling yelp.

It passes out of his mouth in a hushed but raging voice.

 

Yugyeom, who was only standing some centimetres on his left, smiled a shaky smile before offering a weak grin that showed his teeth. Instinctively, he felt the urge to retreat a couple of steps so that he was standing at a safer distance away from a certain fury that was about to tear open. Still, he controls this impulse and stands his ground.

 

‘S _urprise_ …? Heh. Heh- _Heh_.’ Yugyeom manages.

The jokey and wobbly words unsteadily left his mouth quietly.

 

For what felt like the longest moment ever, that’s all they did. Jinyoung staring daggers into Yugyeom, then back at the painting, and back at Yugyeom.

Yugyeom staring straight at the painting, admiring it with some mock _oohs_ and _ahs_ and _wouldn’t you look at that hyung_ , as though he had never seen the painting before, as though he had suddenly transformed into some expert art-observer in those few seconds.

As though _he_ wasn’t the person who made the damned submission.

 

A short distance away, a certain pair of eyes looks on, transitioning from a state of awe and shivering wonder, to that of bright curious eyes.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...who still remembers this story? heh. 
> 
> life has been tough to keep up, somehow. 
> 
> and this story means too much to me.   
> which is why it's always difficult to retouch it. and difficult to pen down these scenes in my head in a way that does the story justice. 
> 
> and then, one day, i told myself. even if no one reads it, it's something i want to complete. even if it takes forever, it shall be etched within myself to complete it. 
> 
> ...welp.   
> thanks for reading.


End file.
